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.--A 






ON THE BRINK OF A CHASM 



ON THE BRINK 
OF A CHASM 


A RECORD OF PLOT AND PASSION 


BY 

L. T. MEADE 

Author of “The Medicine Lady,” “A Soldier of Fortune,” Etc. 








V 




7'L 




NEW YORK 

F. M. BUCKLES & COMPAISTY 

9 AND 1 1 EAST I 6th street 
LONDON 

CHATTO & WINDUS 

1899 


( 







TWO COPIES RECEIVED, 


Library of Congreas, 
Office of the 

NOV 1 8 IBPfl 

Register of Copyrights 


46874 


Copyright 1899 
by 

F. M. BUCKIvES & COMPANY 


SECOND COPY, 





On the Brink of a Chasm 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER 

I. Undone 

II. A Man’s Revenge 

III. “The King can do no Wrong ” 

IV. A Post Obit 

V. “ I have Misjudged Him ” 

VI. The Kiss 

VII. The Cause of Death 

VIII. The Long Trunk 

IX. The Dead Restored 

X. “ Diamond cut Diamond ” 

XI. A Telegram 

XII. A Crafty Old Lady 

XIII. The Die Cast 

XIV. Black Mischief 

XV. Dick’s Secret 

XVI. The Wrong Medicine 

XVII. Mrs. Pelham 

XVIIL “ Tarbot Will tell Me ” 

XIX. “ ‘ Scoundrel ! ’ He Said ” 

XX. The Price of Plis Sin 

XXL “ Honor Bright ” 

XXII. “ Your Eyes are-Big and Bright ”. . 

XXIII. With the Doctors 

XXIV. The Little Woman in Black 

XXV. “ There’s a Cruel Sin Somewhere ” 

XXVI. Not in the Bargain 

XXVII A Black Crime 

XXVIIL The “ Pelham Arms ” 

XXIX. Circumstantial Evidence 

XXX, The Bolt 

XXXI. Gone 


PAGE 

7 

17 

28 

36 

48 

57 

68 

77 

88 

95 

108 

118 

129 

138 

150 

157 

170 

184 

190 

197 

210 

220 

230 

236 

250 

258 

269 

276 

289 

297 

309 


5 


' I 

6 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

XXXII. Barbara hears Startling News v* • 3*5 

XXXIII. A Moment of Triumph 329 

XXXIV. The Last Straw 343 

XXXV. Ace of Trumps 350 

XXXVI. Sir Piers 358 


ON THE BRINK OF A CHASM. 


CHAPTER I. 

UNDONE. 

There was a crush at Mrs. Evershed’s beau- 
tiful house in Mark Place, and she now stood 
at the head of the staircase receiving her guests. 
Her face wore a smile, and conventional words 
of welcome rose to her lips. 

She was a handsome woman, of about forty, 
and there were few people, even in Mayfair, 
who entertained more brilliantly. To look at 
her, her house, her servants, her guests, no one 
would suppose that she had a care in the world, 
and yet just behind that smiling face grim care 
dwelt. 

At this very moment, while money was being 
as lavishly expended as if it were mere water, she 
herself was on the verge of bankruptcy. The 
crisis was imminent ; her creditors clamored. 
It would be impossible to keep the wolf at bay 
more than a few days longer. She knew of this, 
but still she smiled and received her guests with 
unction. 


7 


8 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 

Meanwhile Barbara, Mrs. Evershed s only 
daughter, had hidden herself in the recess of a 
curtained window. She was nineteen years of 
age, and was considered one of the handsom- 
est girls who had made debut ih2ii season. 
Had she been worldly-minded, and only 
thought of money, she might have made a 
match which would have saved Mrs. Evershed 
from all her money liabilities forever, but this 
was not Barbara’s way. 

She was a rebellious girl ; she had never 
wanted for money, and could not realize the 
fact that she might soon be penniless. With 
sparkles in her eyes, lips slightly parted, and 
cheeks with the glow of beautiful expectation 
on them, she waited i-n her corner. Now and 
then she peeped forward and glanced at her 
mother. She knew perfectly well what her 
mother’s thoughts were. 

“ Yes ; she would like me to marry Lord 
Selwyn,” thought the girl to herself. “ No mat- 
ter even though he is seventy and ugly, and 
they also say that he drinks ; has he not eighty 
thousand pounds a year, and would not the 
money put all mother’s terrible money affairs 
straight ? But I won’t marry him ; no, I won’t. 
There is only one man whom I care for.” 

Barbara was tall ; her eyes were soft brown 
with a starry light in them. She had quantities 
of dark hair, too, which was coiled in a classi- 
cal fashion round her stately head. She was 


Undone. 


9 

dressed in white silk, and held in her hand a 
large feather fan. 

“ I have made up my mind,” she said again to 
herself— “ if Dick proposes to-night I shall ac- 
cept him. When mother really knows that I 
am engaged to Dick she will think of some 
other way of getting out of her difficulties. I 
cannot and will not marry Lord Selwyn. As 
to Luke Tarbot, they say he is rich too.” She 
shuddered slightly. 

“ Dick is the only man I will marry. If I 
were Dick’s wife I could be a good woman. 
It is true that he is only a briefless barrister at 
present, but he has got brains. He suits me, 
I suit him. I love him, and I will never, never 
marry or love anybody else.” 

The crush in the beautiful rooms grew great- 
er and greater. Voices sounded close to Bar- 
bara. She feared any moment that her hiding 
place might be discovered ; if so, good-by to 
the treat she had promised herself when Dick 
Pelham appeared. Presently one or two men 
came and stood just outside the velvet curtain. 
They talked and laughed, and once or twice 
Mrs. Evershed’s name passed their lips. One 
said to the other — 

“ Those difficulties which Saunderson spoke 
of last night at the club cannot be true. She 
would not be so mad as to entertain in this 
lavish st3de if they were.” 

“Oh, she does it for a blind,” was the reply 


10 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 

of the other. “There is no way of keeping up 
your credit like keeping up your debts. She 
is a fool of course. By the way, they say that 
handsome girl of hers might help her if she 
would." 

“ By marrying Selwyn ? ” said the other. 

“Aye. Why not ? By marrying Selwyn and 
saving the position." 

The first man made an impatient move- 
ment. 

“ I hope the girl has too much self-respect," 
he said then. 

Barbara shivered behind her curtain. Very 
little more would have made her scream. Her 
silk dress made a slight noise as it rustled 
against the balcony. 

“Hush, there may be some one near," said 
the first speaker. The men moved away, and 
Barbara stepped on to the balcony. She leant 
over the parapet and pressed her hands to her 
hot cheeks. 

“ It is too bad," thought the angry girl ; “even 
in mother’s own house they will not leave her 
alone. I know who those men are, of course. 
I recognized Mr. Ashford’s voice, and the other 
is Mr. Seton. So our affairs are the common 
talk of the clubs, and it is really expected that 
I am^ to rescue mother by making a loveless 
marriage. But I won’t — my life is my own ; I 
decline to sacrifice myself." 

“ I am glad to find you at last," said a voice 


Undone. 


II 


in her ears. “I have been looking for you 
everywhere. Why are you hiding yourself ? ” 

“ The rooms are so hot,” answered Barbara 
shortly. “ How do you do, Dr. Tarbot?” 

The man held out his hand, which Barbara 
just touched with her long, slim fingers. His 
was a somewhat striking personality, and yet 
he was not the least good-looking. He was 
of medium height, thin in build : his brow was 
broad and lofty, his eyebrows well marked, and 
his deep gray eyes were full of light. 

That strange light was never absent from 
the eyes, which in themselves were somewhat 
pale in color, but with their black irises and 
black surroundings made an important addition 
to a decidedly remarkable face. The man’s 
mouth was firm and cut *in a straight line. 

He made the most of his height, holding 
himself very erect, and now he looked full and 
boldly into Barbara’s eyes. The balcony was 
softly lit, and the girl could be seen quite dis- 
tinctly. The electric light, which was covered 
with glass globes formed in the shape of lilies, 
gave her an unreal appearance. 

“ I am glad I have found you,” repeated Tar- 
bot. He spoke in a hurry, and as though he 
were slightly out of breath. “ I rushed off here 
in great haste. I must see a patient again before 
midnight. The man will probably die when 
the new day dawns, and he has a longing to 
have me with him when he breathes his last.” 


12 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

Barbara was silent, but her eyes, as if mes- 
merized, fixed themselves on Tarbot. 

“ It is a relief to see you. Miss Evershed : 
you look so bright — as if you had never known 
sorrow or illness. The contrast between that 
dying man’s agony and your grace and beauty 
is enough to stagger one. Yes, I can stay but 
for a quarter of an hour. I promised Mr. Har- 
lington to be with him when he died.” 

“ Why did you leave him ? ” said Barbara 
in her slow voice. She always spoke in a slow, 
reflective sort of way. 

“ Does not the contrast make you ill ? ” she 
continued. “ The frivolity of life one moment, 
a death-bed the next. I do not know how you 
doctors can live ; you must get terribly hard 
as the years go on. Well, I must go back to 
our guests ; mother will want me to help her. 
There are a great many people here to-night.” 

“ The rooms are packed and the heat is sti- 
fling. Why should you join that overheated 
throng ? As to your mother wanting you, she 
told me where I should find you, and said 
nothing about asking you to go to her. Please 
stay ” 

Barbara paused with her hand upon the frame 
of the open window. 

“ Yes ? ” she asked in an interrogative way. 

“ I should not have left a dying man if I had 
not a special reason for doing so.” 

“ Yes ?” replied Barbara again. 


Undone. 


13 


“ You are the reason.” 

“ I am very sorry indeed to hear it, Dr. Tar- 
bot. I do not think your reason adequate. 
Now I must go back to our guests.” 

“You must not,” said Dr. Tarbot firmly. 
“ I came here with the express purpose of see- 
ing you, and I will, not be foiled. You will 
stay with me for a moment or two. I want to 
say, to say ” 

Barbara returned once more to the balcony. 
She saw that the man must have his oppor- 
tunity, and she knew that she was in for a bad 
quarter of an hour. She closed her big fan 
and held it in both hands. 

“You know what I want to say.” 

“Yes,” replied Barbara. She made a short 
pause before she uttered the single word. 
Then she added, marked deliberation in her 
tone, “ Is it a gentlemanly action to detain a 
girl against her will ? ” 

“ Barbara, you must know what I mean.” 

“When did I give you leave. Dr. Tarbot, to 
call me by my Christian name ? ” 

“ I used to call you Barbara when you were 
a child. Do you never remember the old 
days ?” 

“ Tho'se days are over,” answered Barbara. 
“ Now, please, say what you have to say.” 

“ And then go, is that it ? ” 

“ Will you speak ? ” 

“ I will. My words can be soon said. I love 


14 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

you — I want you for my wife. I am determined 
to win you.” 

Determined ! ” said Barbara. “ You are 
very bold, Dr. Tarbot.” 

I was never a coward. I will plead with 
you until I succeed. You are the only woman 
in all the world whom I love. I will have 
you.” 

“ You will ? Again I say you are bold.” 

“ For Heaven’s sake let us argue the matter 
out quietly.” 

“ There is nothing whatever to argue. You 
say you love me. I do not return your love, 
therefore I cannot marry you. Are not those 
words plain enough ? ” 

“ Plain as they are, they do not clinch this 
business,” said the man, now trembling with 
rage and suppressed passion. “ I will plead 
my vCause and you must listen. What I feel for 
you is more than ordinary love ; it has been the 
growth of years. Do you think just for a light 
word I will give you up ? I should make you 
a good husband. As to your mother, I know 
well what money difficulties she is in, but I 
can put her straight. I am a young man — not 
like Lord Selwyn.” 

“ Do not mention his name.” 

“ I must, for report gives you to him. I 
only say now what is the common talk of Lon- 
don. I am a young man, and not in the least 
like Selwyn, I hate a girl giving herself to an 


Undone. 


15 

old man, but I am young and suitable as re- 
gards age. I am clever, too, and doing splen- 
didly in my profession. Already I am consid- 
ered one of the greatest brain specialists of the 
day. By and by I shall be a rich man. Al- 
ready I am anything but poor. I can put your 
mother’s affairs quite straight, and I will if only 
you will promise to be mine.” 

“ I do not love you, and therefore I cannot 
promise to be yours. Now, please, let me 
go." 

“ Not yet, not for a moment. Your love will 
come. Promise to marry me, if not for my 
sake, for your mother’s. Oh, Barbara, Miss 
Evershed — it does not matter what I call you 
— you will never repent it. If you were my 
wife, I should be a good man. I do not pre- 
tend that I am good now ; I am just a desper- 
ate fellow, but full of love for you. Have you 
not been the star which I have set before me 
since I was a lad ? Say you will marry me ; 
say it — you will never regret it. If you do not 
there will be mischief. Oh, Barbara, do not 
give me up. Barbara, I shall go down, I shall 
sink, I shall be ruined, if you refuse me.” 

He paused at last, looking, with his eyes 
burning with suppressed passion, into the girl’s 
face. She did not shrink from his gaze, but 
she changed her position. Some of the- soft 
golden light fell across her dress and on her 
white arms, and gave a queer glow to the big 


i6 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

fan. Barbara unfurled it slowly, and held it 
so as partly to hide her face. 

“ I am sorry for you,” she said ; “ you must 
try and get over this. But you have had my 
answer ; I cannot say anything different.” 

“ Do not refuse me now. Think, consider, 
take time. I cannot, I cannot give you up to 
another.” 

There was such a genuine tone of agony in 
the man’s voice that, in spite of herself, the 
girl was slightly softened ; her tone became 
gentle. 

“ It pains me to give you pain,” she said, 
“ but you must consider my answer quite final. 
It would be false kindness to give you the least 
hope. I do not love you, I could never under 
any circumstances love you ; you do not in 
any single particular suit me. As your wife I 
should be miserable — I should be worse, I 
should even be bad. I could never be the wife 
of one I do not sincerely love. If you were 
the last man left in the world I could not 
marry you. Dr. Tarbot. Is not that decisive 
enough ? ” 

“ It is, and I am undone,” said Tarbot. His 
face grew ghastly white ; he staggered against 
the window frame. 

Without a word Barbara turned and left him. 
She entered the gaily lighted room. Tarbot, 
leaning against the window frame, watched 
her as she did so. 


A Man’s Revenge. 


17 


CHAPTER II. 

A man’s revenge. 

Baj^bara looked like a beautiful white lily. 
Her long neck slightly drooped as she walked 
down the room. Tarbot’s face as he watched 
her became more and more ugly ; the devil 
was fairly aroused in him. 

“ If I cannot have that woman for my wife 
I shall go under,” he muttered. “ But she 
shall be mine — I swear it. Only a rival can 
kill hope. If there is a rival, if ” — he clenched 
his hand — “ he shall rue it,” he muttered ; “ the 
man, whoever he is, shall rue it— he shall rue it 
to his dying day.” 

At that moment Tarbot’s worst fears were 
confirmed. He could see well into the big 
drawing-room, and just then he noticed a man 
who, in irreproachable evening costume, with 
a rose in his button-hole, came forward ’and 
clasped one of Barbara’s white hands. The 
man was tall, fair, and remarkably good-look- 
ing : his face was clean-shaven, his mouth 
sweet in expression, his eyes full of kindliness. 
They were good eyes, gray in color and well 
open. 

2 


1 8 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

Barbara looked up into his face, and there 
was an expression in hers which Tarbot saw 
and interpreted aright. That expression was 
the last straw. It turned the disappointed 
man’s blood into gall. He clenched both his 
hands tightly. They were the hands of a sur- 
geon— beautifully formed, firm, and cool as 
steel. He clenched them so hard now that 
the nails penetrated the skin. His face felt 
cold ; a moment later it was bathed in per- 
spiration. 

Fury ungovernable raged in his heart. He 
trembled all over. For a moment he could 
scarcely see clearly ; then, rubbing one of his 
hands across his eyes, he pulled himself to- 
gether with a great effort. Once more he bent 
forward and glanced into the drawing-room. 
The crowds were still there, the crush was at 
its height, but the pair he sought had vanished. 

“ So Dick Pelham is her choice,” muttered 
Tarbot. “ I know where I shall find them ; 
they are sure to be in one of the conservatories. 
If I remember aright, this balcony runs right 
round to the conservatories ; I don’t mind 
spying on them. Barbara is turning me into 
a devil, and I shall act as one. Pelham looked 
as if he meant to say something to-night ; she 
will reply. I must know all about it ; I must 
be in the thick of this matter.” 

As Tarbot thought he began to creep along 
the balcony. Presently he found himself 


19 


A Man’s Revenge. 

standing outside the great conservatory. The 
windows were all wide open. Tarbot stationed 
himself in deep shadow ; he could hear almost 
every word which was spoken within the glass 
walls. At first there was a confusion of sound, 
then two voices, distinct and clear, fell on the 
man’s ears. 

“ I must have your answer, Barbara,” said 
Pelham. His voice was eager and tremulous. 
“ Say yes or no to me at once.” 

There vras a pause, then came Barbara’s 
reply. 

“I have loved you for long years, Dick ; I 
shall never love anybody else. I would will- 
ingly become engaged to you but for mother. 
But mother is miserable and anxious. She has 
got into great money difficulties. She hopes 
against hope that I will relieve the strain by 
marrying a rich man, but, Dick, I cannot do 
it. I would do much for mother, but I cannot 
destroy my whole life even for her. You are 
the only one I love ; I cannot give you up.” 

“ That’s right, Barbara ; that’s plucky ! ” 
said the young man. “ Then you will become 
engaged to me, darling ? ” 

“ I can neither give you up nor become 
engaged to you. You see for yourself, do you 
not, how I am pulled both ways ? It would 
drive mother mad at the present crisis if I were 
to tell her that all hope is over— that I am 
engaged to you and will not look at any other 


20 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

man. Oh, Dick ! my heart is torn. I am an 
unhappy, miserable girl ! ” 

“ You ought to tell her the truth,” said Pel- 
ham. “ She has no right whatever to coerce 
you. Tell her to-night ; tell her you are en- 
gaged to me. I do not expect her to consent 
to our marriage just at present, but at least she 
ought to know of the engagement.” 

“ But we are not engaged.” 

“ No, but we ought to be — where is the dif- 
ficulty? Barbara, it will be such an incentive. 
I shall work like a horse, and I know I shall 
get on. I have brains and pluck. You won’t 
have long to wait — I vow it. Already I am 
doing well in my profession ; in ten years’ 
time I shall be a rich man.” 

“ But I cannot wait for ten years,” said Bar- 
bara slowly. “ I don’t mind how poor you are, 
Dick. I would marry 3^ou to-morrow if it were 
not for mother. I don’t know how she will 
get out of her difficulties. I cannot help her 
in the way she wishes.” 

“ They speak of you in connection with Sel- 
wyn,” said the young man. “ It is too awful.” 

“ Yes, but there is nothing in it. Such re- 
ports are sure to be spread of any girl. Listen 
to me, dear. I will be faithful to you, but I 
must not worry mother just for a little. Be 
satisfied ; let us understand each other, but do 
not let the engagement become public quite 
yet.” 


21 


A Man’s Revenge. 

“ I suppose it must be as you wish,” said 
Pelham, “ only I hate to feel that other men 
have a right to talk to you, and make love to 
you ; but I suppose I must submit. Oh ! if 
only poor little Piers were not in existence, 
your mother would welcome me. If I could 
come to her as Sir Richard Pelham she would 
raise no objections, eh, Barbara ? ” 

“ No,” answered Barbara slowly. “ But as 
Piers is there, and as we love him very much, 
and as we earnestly hope he will live, there is 
no use thinking of that.” 

“ Of course there is not, and I am mad to 
speak of it ; but my brain is in a whirl to- 
night. Yes ; Piers will live— he will be^a 
strong man yet. He will come in for his sixty 
thousand pounds a year and the Pelham es- 
tates.” 

“ It is strange to think that you are really 
the next heir,” said Barbara. 

“ It is a fact all the same, Barbara. If 
Piers were not in the world, dear little chap, 
I should be the baronet, and the property 
would be mine. Well, don’t let us say any- 
thing more about it. I suppose I must con- 
sent to our not being engaged for the present, 
but you must make me a promise.” 

“What is that?” 

“ Tell me, here and now, that you will never 
marry anybody else.” 

“ I promise never to marry any man in this 


22 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


wide world but you, Richard Pelham,” said 
the girl slowly and solemnly. 

Tarbot peered through the-glass of the con- 
servatory. He could just see the faces of the 
lovers. Barbara’s was all aflame with emotion. 
Dick was holding both her hands in a fervent 
clasp. With bowed head the surgeon moved 
away. He had made up his mind. 

Hailing a hansom, he drove straight to the 
house of the patient whose dying bed he had 
promised to attend. It was now close on 
twelve o’clock — the man had breathed his last 
a quarter of an hour ago. Tarbot went into 
the house, made ample apologies to the widow, 
sympathized with her as she stood before him 
in her grief, and then took his leave. 

“ No time like the present,” he said to him- 
self. “ My blood is up ; I will not wait until 
the morning. What I have to do I will do 
quickly. 

“ Drive to Tottenham Court Road, and put 
me down at the corner of Goodge Street,” 
said Tarbot to his driver. 

He stepped into the hansom, the man 
whipped up his horse, and a few moments later 
the doctor was walking quietly down Goodge 
Street. It happened to be Saturday night, 
and Goodge Street at that hour was the reverse 
of aristocratic. Torches were flaring on piled- 
up barrows holding every sort of fruit. Women 
were screaming and chaffering, men were 


A Man’s Revenge. 23 

lounging about and smoking, children got in 
the way, were knocked over, and cried out. 

Tarbot in his light overcoat was a strange 
figure in the midst of the others. One or two 
people remarked him, a woman laughed, and 
a girl came behind him and pushed his hat 
over his eyes. A peal of laughter followed 
this witticism. Tarbot did not take the least 
notice, but walked on quickly. 

At last he stopped at a corner house which 
was different from its neighbors. It was 
newly built, and looked clean and respectable. 
It was, in short, a great block of people’s build- 
ings. He w^ent up the winding stairs, and 
presently sounded a bell on a door which was 
painted dark green, and on which the number 
47 shone out in vivid white. There was a 
brass plate below the number on which were 
inscribed the words — 

Miss Clara Ives, 

Trained Nurse, Medical, Surgical. 

Tarbot waited for a moment. Would the 
nurse be in ? or, if in, would she have retired 
to rest ? 

“ Scarcely that,” he muttered to himself ; 
“ Clara does not sleep well. Clara has been 
subject to insomnia ; she will scarcely retire 
before midnight on such a hot night as the 
present one.” 


^4 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

These thoughts had scarcely darted through 
his brain before the door was opened, and a 
woman, tall and slender, with reddish hair and 
a freckled face, stood before him. She was a 
painfully thin woman, her eyes light blue and 
her upper lip long. 

When she saw Tarbot there came a 
gleam into her eyes — a peculiar look which 
for a moment transformed them. Then she 
stretched out her long right hand, took 
hold of the doctor s, and led him into the 
room. 

“ Who would have thought of seeing you 
here, and now ? ” she said breathlessly. 
“ What do you want with me ? Another case, 
eh ? or anything else ? ’’ 

“ I want a good deal with you, Clara, as it 
happens,” said Tarbot. He spoke in a familiar 
tone, without a trace of respect in it. “ Shut 
the door, turn on the gas, and let us talk. As 
I said, I have much to say.” 

“ But I am going out to a case in half an 
hour,” said Nurse Ives. “ I am packing my 
things now — it is a bad case. A child has 
been burnt, and they have sent for me.” 

“ Somebody else must attend to it. I want 
you,” said Tarbot. 

“ What for ? ” 

Another case— one of life or death.” 

“What do you mean ?” 

“ Have I ever spoken to you of little Piers 


A Man’s Revenge. 25 

Pelham, the present owner of the Pelham 
estates ? ” 

“ What, the child who comes between Rich- 
ard Pelham and the baronetcy ? ” said the 
nurse eagerly. 

^‘The same.’* 

Yes, I have heard of him ; he is a delicate 
child. What of him ? ” 

‘‘If you undertake his case he runs a 
chance of being a dead child soon.” 

“ Now what does this mean ?” 

“ It means that I want to revenge a wrong, 
and the tool is young Piers Pelham. Do you 
follow me ? ” 

“ Not at present, but I shall soon,” answered 
the woman. Then she continued : 

“What is the matter with the boy ? ” 

“ At present,” said Tarbot, speaking very 
slowly, “he is quite well, but within a few days 
he will be ill. I shall send for you ; you will 
nurse him.” 

“And ?” said the woman. 

Tarbot went forward and began to whisper 
in her ear. Nurse Ives had a dead-white com- 
plexion. As the doctor spoke, her face turned 
ghastly. 

“You want me to connive at a crime ? ” she 
said. 

Tarbot winced, then he said “Yes.” 

“ Is this matter very important to you ?” 

“ It is life or death to me — life or death.” 


26 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

The surgeon rubbed his hands slowly one 
inside the other ; his eyes were fixed on the 
eyes of the nurse. She looked back at him. 
Then she spoke. 

“ I will do what you require, on a condi- 
tion.’' 

“ What is that ? ” 

“That you make me your wife.” 

“That I marry you?” said Tarbot. He 
started up. “ That I marry you ? ” 

An ugly line, where she had been cut long 
ago, came out across the woman’s temple. It 
showed fiery red ; the rest of her face was 
dead-white. She laid one of her hands on 
Tarbot’s ; her hand was icy cold. He shivered. 

“ That you marry me,” she repeated ; “ that 
you own me before all the world as your law- 
ful wedded wife. Only on that condition will 
I do what you want.” 

Tarbot did not reply for a minute. He 
turned away from the eager eyes of the nurse, 
and closed his own. As he did so he saw an- 
other vision— a vision of a girl in white. He 
was carried away from his present surround- 
ings as he listened to a girl’s voice. The girl’s 
face was a lovely one, and her voice like music. 
She was saying solemnly, “ I promise never to 
marry any man in this wide world but you, 
Richard Pelham.” 

“ I am waiting for my answer,” said Nurse 
Ives. 


27 


A Man’s Revenge. 

“ Yes/' cried Tarbot, starting and opening 
his eyes. “ If you do what I require, if our 
scheme succeeds, I will make you my lawful 
wedded wife in the sight of Heaven.” 


28 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


CHAPTER III. 

“ THE KING CAN DO NO WRONG.^^ 

Sir Piers Pelham, aged seven, was an auto- 
crat. He lived in a big house, daintily and 
luxuriously furnished. He had servants to do 
his bidding ; each whim was attended to ini- 
mediately ; his mother was there to obey his 
every dictate. He was the King in No. 12 
Ashley Mansions. Nothing was too great to do 
for him, nothing too hard to endure for his 
sake. 

At present the little baronet was under the 
care of guardians — his mother was one, a law- 
yer of the name of Carroll was another, and 
Luke Tarbot, one of the cleverest and most 
rising doctors in Harley Street, the third. 
When Piers came of age he would enter into 
a property which represented over sixty thou- 
sand pounds a year. 

The boy’s father had died while hunting a 
month before his birth. He had never been 
the reigning baronet. The reigning baronet 
was an old man, who had passed from life when 
little Piers was a year old. From that time 


“ The King Can Do No Wrong.” 29 

the boy was Sir Piers Pelham. If he died the 
title would go to Dick Pelham, who was his 
second cousin. 

On a certain evening, about a week after the . 
events related in the last chapter, Luke Tarbot, 
when he entered his house in Harley Street, 
found a note awaiting him. It was from 12 
Ashley Mansions, and ran as follows : 

“ Dear Luke, — I wish you would look round 
as soon as possible. That new medicine you 
have given Piers does not suit him. He is 
feverish and unwell. The nurse has kept him 
in bed to-day. He is not the least like himself. 

I feel strangely anxious. 

“ Yours very truly, 

“ Marion Pelham.” 

Having read the note Tarbot went into his 
dining-room and rang the bell. His servant 
answered his summons. 

“ Have dinner served at once, Peters,” said 
his master. 

The man withdrew, and a few moments later 
the doctor was enjoying an exquisitely cooked 
meal. He was an epicure ancb^lways ate 
deliberately. 

Having finished and enjoyed the refresh- 
ment of a cigar, he put on his overcoat and 
went to Ashley Mansions. The door was 
opened by a footman in the Pelham livery. 
The doctor asked for Mrs. Pelham. 


30 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ My mistress is in the drawing-room, sir. 
She has been looking out for you very anx- 
iously, Dr. Tarbot.” 

“ Announce me, please,” said Tarbot. 

He left his hat and overcoat in the hall, and 
a moment later was ushered into Mrs. Pelham’s 
presence. She was a little woman, with rosy 
cheeks and bright, dark eyes. She had the 
eager, affectionate manner of a person whose 
heart overbalances her mind. 

“ I am so glad to see you, doctor,” she cried. 
“ Please sit down. Piers has had a very queer 
fainting fit this afternnon. I do not like the 
state he is in at all.”- 

“ Has the nurse come ? ” asked Tarbot. 

“ She came yesterday. I don’t much like 
her, and I don’t think the child does either.” 

“Oh, she is an excellent nurse,” said Tar- 
bot, frowning ; “ one of the very best I have 
on my staff. I’ll go up and have a look at the 
child.” 

Mrs. Pelham took the doctor up-stairs her- 
self. The bedroom occupied by the small 
baronet was luxuriously furnished in the style 
best calculated to please a child. 

Just beyond it was a dressing-room, but the 
little baronet slept, as well as played, in his 
nursery. He was sitting up in bed now, with 
flushed cheeks. He was a remarkably pretty 
boy, with soft black hair, eyes dark as night, 
and a velvety skin of the purest olivo. The 


“The King Can Do No Wrong.” 31 

moment his mother appeared he called out to 
her in a high, ringing tone, — 

“ Fm better again, mother. Oh, is that you. 
Dr. Tarbot ? I don’t want any more of your 
nasty medicines. You needn’t order them for 
me, for Fm not going to take them.” 

He laughed as he announced his determi- 
nation. The mother ran up to the boy and 
began to kiss him. 

“ Oh, I do think he is a little better,” she 
cried eagerly. She looked round as she spoke 
at the nurse, who was standing perfectly 
motionless by the bedside. The nurse did 
not glance at her— her eyes were fixed on 
Tarbot. 

“ I took his temperature an hour ago,” she 
said ; “ he is decidedly feverish, and ought to 
stay quiet.” 

“ I hate you, you nasty nurse,” said little 
Piers, “ and I hate you, too. Dr. Tarbot. I 
want Dick to come to me — Dick of Barbara, 
but I would rather have Dick. Do send Dick 
to me, mother. He ought to come, oughtn’t 
he, when the king wants him ? ” 

“ I don’t think you should have visitors at 
present,” said Tarbot. “ I wish you to stay 
quiet and to do what Nurse Ives says.” 

“ Oh, Fm not going to obey her,” said the 
child. “ I hate nurses. I want Dick. Please, 
mother, send for Dick ! ” 

The doctor began to examine the boy, tap- 


32 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

ping the little chest, listening to his breath- 
ing, taking his temperature, feeling his pulse. 

“ You’ll be better soon,” he said, when he 
stood up after making his examination. “ I’ll 
send you some fresh medicine ; you need not 
take any more of that bitter stuff. Nurse, I 
will give you some directions in the other room. 
Piers, listen to me — you must stay in bed.” 

“ No, I won’t,” said the boy. “ I’m going 
to get up.” 

“ You’ll stay in bed, my boy, because I 
order it,” said Tarbot in a determined voice. 

The boy gazed at him out of his great black 
eyes. 

“You order it ?” he said slowly. “ I didn’t 
think anybody could order Sir Piers Pelham.” 

“And why not?” ^ 

“ Oh, because— because I’m rich,” said the 
child, “ and I ” —he gazed round him in a 
puzzled way— “ I’m great. I’ll be a very great 
man when I’m grown up. I was telling nurse 
about it. I was telling her that I’d have heaps 
of money. I shall have everything my own 
way. ril be a sort of king. The king can do 
no wrong. That’s a beautiful proverb, isn’t 
it ? I’m going to have it illuminated and put 
over the mantelpiece. I’m the king and I 
can do no wrong, and I wish to get up, and I 
will You can’t keep me in bed, nor can nurse.” 

“ You may be a great king, or autocrat, or 
whatever you like to call it,” said Tarbot, 


“ The King Can Do No Wrong.’' 33 

“ but you have got to obey me now because 
I am your doctor. Nurse, I must speak to 
you. I will see you afterwards in the draw- 
ing-room, Mrs. Pelham.” 

The doctor and the nurse left the room. 
The nurse was absent about five minutes. 
She came back looking quiet and calm. She 
went and stood by little Piers’s bed. The 
mother was at the other side. 

“ I think the doctor would like to speak to 
you, madam,” said the nurse. 

Mrs. Pelham left the room. She went 
down-stairs. Tarbot was waiting for her, 
standing with his back to the mantelpiece. 
As soon as Mrs. Pelham came in he began to 
speak. 

“ I don’t like the condition of the child.” 

She clasped her hands, and a look of terror 
came into her face. 

“ I have discovered that there is real cardiac 
mischief.” 

“What is that ?” asked Mrs. Pelham. 

“ The child’s heart is seriously affected.” 

The mother uttered a cry. 

“ I shall call in Dr. Williamson to-morrow. 
He is a great authority on such cases. We 
must take his advice.” 

Mrs. Pelham sat down on the nearest chair 
and burst into tears. 

“ You might send for the child’s cousin,” said 
Tarbot. 

3 


34 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“What cousin ? 

“ Dick Pelham — he is fond of him. Any- 
thing reasonable ought to be granted to the 
boy at present.” 

Mrs. Pelham started up. “ Dick shall come 
at once,” she cried. 

“ That is right. I’ll call round in the morn- 
ing.” 

Tarbot left the house. Mrs. Pelham sent 
a hurried messenger for Dick. He arrived 
within an hour. 

“ Why, Mrs. Pelham ! ” he exclaimed, burst- 
ing into the room, “ what sad news is this ? 
What is the matter with Piers ? ” 

“ He is ill, Dick. The doctor says it is quite 
serious.” 

“ Do you mean that Tarbot says so ? ” 

“Yes, of course I mean Dr. Tarbot. He 
always attends little Piers when he is ill. He 
is his guardian, you know, Dick, or perhaps 
you have forgotten. I hope you didn’t mind 
my sending for you— the little fellow has been 
calling for you all day.” 

“ I am delighted you sent for me. I’ll go 
up to the boy at once.” 

Pelham ran up-stairs. Piers with a flushed 
face was arguing with Nurse Ives. Nurse 
Ives was making few replies. She was sitting 
quietly by the child. Her eyes were fixed 
steadily on his face. Little Piers turned away 
from the bright glassy look in her eyes, then, 


“ The King Can Do No Wrong.’' 35 

as if fascinated, he looked back at her. Dick’s 
entry into the room made a diversion. 

“ Hullo, Piers ! what’s the matter ? ” said 
his cousin. 

“ Oh, Cousin Dick, Cousin Dick ! ” said the 
boy, “ I am glad to see you. Come and sit 
with me. I am glad, I am glad ! You can 
go away now, nurse, I want to be all alone 
with my Cousin Dick : he’s my greatest friend. 
He’s my heir, you know.” 

“Your heir?” said the nurse. “ What do 
you mean?” 

“ Yes ; if I were to die, Dick would be Sir 
Dick. Doesn’t it sound funny ? Sir Dick ! 
You would, wouldn’t you, Dick?” 

“ Don’t talk about it. Piers ; I hate the sub- 
ject,” said Dick, frowning. 

“ I wouldn’t make you angry for the world. 
Come and sit near me and hold my hand. 
Nurse, you can go out of the room. I love 
you, Dick ; I love you.” 

“ But what is the matter with you. Piers ?” 

“ My ticker beats too fast — it’s awfully trouble- 
some — it beats one, two, and it stops ; then it 
flies on, and then it seems scarcely to go at all, 
and I feel cold and faint. If I were to get a 
little worse, then you’d come into my property. 
You’d make an awfully nice baronet. Give 
me your hand, Dick. Sir Dick you’d be if I 
were dead.” 

Go to sleep, Piers,” said Dick. 


36 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


CHAPTER IV. 

A POST OBIT. 

Pelham sat with the boy for about an hour. 
The nurse came in and turned off the electric 
light. She lit a lamp in a distant part of the 
room, and shaded it ; then she approached 
the bedside on tiptoe. 

“ How is the boy now?” asked Pelham in 
a whisper. 

“ He is very ill,” said the woman. “ He 
ought to have his medicine soon.” 

“ But you won’t wake him for it,” said Dick. 

“I am sorry, but I must. The boy must 
have his medicine regularly ; it is a heart 
stimulant.” 

“ Well, let me give it to him,” said Dick. 

“ You may if you like,” answered the nurse. 
“ Come into the dressing-room. I will give 
you the glass, and you must raise his head a 
little and whisperto him. He’ll open his eyes 
and drink it, and then go off to sleep again.” 

As the nurse spoke she opened a bottle of 
medicine, measured out a dose carefully, and 
gave it to the young man. He took it into the 


A Post Obit. 


37 

sick-room, and, placing it on a table, bent 
down over the little patient. 

The boy was sleeping, starting now and 
then in his sleep, now and then muttering a 
word. 

“Dick, Fm glad you are with me— Fd like 
you to be Sir Dick, it would sound so pretty, 
so pretty.” 

“ Wake up. Piers,” said his cousin. The 
moment he spoke the child opened his eyes. 

“ It is time for your medicine, little chap.” 

“ Oh, I hate that nasty stuff,” said the boy, 
shuddering and turning his head away. 

“But you’ll drink it for me because you arjg 
a brave little lad.” 

“ I don’t want it, Fd rather die.” 

“ Nonsense, Piers, folly !” 

“ But if I died you’d be Sir Dick.” 

“ And I should hate it,” said Dick. 

“You’d hate it?” said the boy. “Why, 
you’d be the king then.” 

“ Fd hate it all the same. I want you to 
live. I love you, little chap. Now open 
your mouth, drink this off. Ah, that’s a good 
boy.’’ 

The child swallowed the medicine. 

“ It doesn’t taste like the last/’ he said ; 
“ it’s sticky and rather sweet.” Fd rather have 
the old medicine.” 

“ Sweet and sticky,” said Nurse Ives, who 
came into the room just then. “ It ought not 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


38 

to be, for there's nothing either sweet or sticky 
in it. What do you mean, child ? Give me 
the glass, please, Mr. Pelham.” 

She dipped in her finger and tasted the 
dregs. 

“ It is queer,” she said. “ I wonder what is 
the matter with it. It ought not to taste like 
this.” 

She went out of the room, closing the door 
after her. 

Pelham paid no heed to her words. He 
was not thinking about the medicine, he was 
disturbed and anxious about Piers. 

After a time the child dropped off to sleep 
again, and then the young man stole to the 
door. 

“lam going away now, nurse,” he said. “Ill 
look in to-morrow.' 

Pelham went down-stairs. The drawing- 
room door was open. Mrs. Pelham stood on 
the threshold. 

“Well, Dick, well?” she said eagerly. 
“ What do you think of him ?” 

“ I think he is rather bad, if you ask me,” 
said Pelham. “ There is a great change in him. 
If I were you Pd call in other advice.” 

“ That is what Luke thinks. He said we 
ought to have another doctor. I am afraid he 
thinks badly of the case.” 

“ Fd have in another doctor, and take him 
out of Tarbot’s hands,” said Dick. 


A Post Obit, 


39 


“ What, give up Dr. Tarbot, the child’s 
guardian ! Dick, you are talking nonsense.” 

“ Nonsense or not, if the boy were mine I’d 
do it,’’ said Pelham. “ I don’t like Tarbot. I 
never pretended to. I don’t like that nurse 
either.” 

“ But Dr. Tarbot says she is the very best 
nurse on his staff.” 

“All the same I don’t like her. I’d have 
somebody else, and I’d have a new doctor. 
That is my advice, but of course you won’t 
take it.” 

“ I couldn’t, my dear Dick. I couldn’t of- 
fend Dr. Tarbot. It would be madness. Oh, 
what a confused, helpless state I feel in — my 
darling child, my only one ! You don’t think 
that he is in danger ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t go so far as that,” said Pelham. 
“ I’ll call in again in the morning, and I’ll send 
Barbara round.” 

“ He loves Barbara, he would like to see her,” 
said Mrs. Pelham. “ Give my love to her, 
Dick. Dick, is it true — are you engaged to 
Barbara ? ” 

“ Yes, worse luck,” was the reply. 

“ Why do you say worse luck ?” 

“ Because we cannot marry. I am as poor 
as a church mouse, and she has nothing. But 
there, Mrs. Pelham, I am a selfish brute to talk 
of my own affairs just now. I hope little Piers 
will be better in the morning. Good night.” 


40 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

As soon as Dick had gone Mrs. Pelham 
went softly up-stairs. She opened the door of 
the sick-room and stole in. The boy, excited 
and restless, heard her. He called to her to 
come to him. 

“ I can’t sleep, mother,” he said. 

“ Is he worse, nurse?” asked Mrs. Pelham. 

“No, madam, nothing of the kind,” said the 
nurse. “ Kindly leave us, madam, you are 
only exciting him.” 

“Yes, you had better go away, you are only 
exciting me,” repeated Piers. “ I want Dick to 
stay with me. You are too anxious. I hear 
it in your voice. Please go away, mother.” 

Mrs. Pelham went very slowly out of the 
room. When the last echo of her steps had 
died away Nurse Ives locked the door. She 
then turned on the electric light. 

“ What are you doing now ? ” asked the sick 
child, raising himself on his elbow. 

“ I mean to send you to sleep.” 

“ Like you did last night ?” 

“ Yes, like I did last night. Didn’t you like 
it?” 

“ I was a little — afraid,” said the boy very 
slowly. He looked anxiously round the room 
— “ I wish —Dick were—here,” he said again, 
“or~or mother. I was very much afraid.'* 
And now his eyes, luminous and troubled, were 
fixed upon the cold, inscrutable face of the 
red-haired nurse. 


41 


A Post-Obit. 

“There is nothing to frighten you, child, 
quite the contrary,” said the nurse. “ You 
must just lie quiet and fix your eyes on me.” 

“ I don’t want that bright light,” said the 
boy. 

“ Never mind the light — don’t think of it. I 
want to send you ofi to sleep.” 

# “ Why don’t you give me something to send 
me to sleep ? When mother had bad tooth- 
ache the doctor gave her something out of a 
bottle and she went to sleep. I wish you’d 
give me something out of a bottle. I don’t like 
to go to sleep your way.” 

“ Mine is a much, much better way. Now 
you’ll do what I tell you. Give me both your 
hands.” 

“ I— I wont !” said the child, struggling and 
beginning to cry feebly. 

“lam going to stroke your forehead quite 
gently, and you shall look in my eyes. Don’t 
look away. See, I’m going to comfort you.” 

The boy fidgeted and tried to shut his 
eyes. 

“Open your eyes. Piers, look at me this 
ipinute,” said the nurse, in a firm, stern voice. 

“ I — I won’t ! ” began the child. He looked 
away, then he looked again ; soon he looked 
steadily, his own eyes full of fear. Gradually 
the fear went out of them, the eyes became 
fixed and strained. The nurse sat in such a 
position that the boy had to look up a little as 


42 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


he gazed at her. Meanwhile she stroked his 
forehead gently, calmly. Soon a change came 
over the face, the eyelids closed, the color left 
cheeks and lips ; the nurse put her finger and 
thumb on the little wrist — the pulse had appar- 
ently ceased to beat. 

“ It’s all right,” she said to herself. “ I 
didn’t study under Dr. Weismann in Paris for 
nothing. Ha ! ha 1 my dear Doctor Tarbot, 
you think I am your tool, but how do you 
know that I shall not turn the tables on you ? 
Poison this boy, indeed — not I ! I mean to 
save him, poor little fellow ! I shall save him, 
and win you. I shall feather my own nest, 
and hold such a weapon against you that you 
will be in my power for the rest of your life. 
You made a mistake when you asked a woman 
as wise as I am to assist you. 

‘‘ Can I ever forget the day when Dr. Weis- 
mann performed a similar experiment on a 
young man in the hospital, and then called in 
the most eminent physicians to examine him ; 
didn’t they one and all pronounce him dead ? 
You are not cleverer than Dr. Weismann, or 
the other great Paris savants. I am your 
match. You will rue the day you consulted 
me.” 

The nurse laughed softly to herself. Mean- 
while she watched the patient. The child 
looked no longer like a patient ; he looked no 
longer like any living creature — the pallor of 


A Post Obit. 


43 

death was on his forehead. To all appearance 
he had ceased to breathe. 

Nurse Ives sat motionless by his side for a 
couple of hours. At the end of that time she 
went up to a wicker-work trunk which stood 
in a corner of the room. It was a trunk of 
somewhat novel shape, being longer than those 
usually employed. She opened it, and took 
out an electrical apparatus. She put this in 
order, and applied a powerful current to the 
child, placing one pole at the side of the neck, 
and the other over the heart. In a few mo- 
ments little Piers opened his eyes slowly, and 
gazed up at his nurse with a tranquil expression. 

“ I have had a nice sleep,” he said. 

She smiled at him, bent forward, and kissed 
him. 

You must have some nourishment before 
you go to sleep again,” she said. 

She put away the electrical apparatus, re- 
turning it to its place in her wicker-work 
trunk. She then heated some beef-tea and 
brought it to the child’s bedside. 

“ Drink it off, dear,” she said. The child 
drank it greedily. 

“ You did put me into a nice sleep,” he ex- 
claimed. 

“ Yes, am I not a wonderful woman ? Now 
go to sleep again, little one, and I will sit by 
you. But listen to me. Piers — you are not to 
tell anybody about my secret.” 


44 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ What secret ? ” asked the boy. 

“ The beautiful way in which I put you to 
sleep.” 

“ Would you rather I didn't ? ” 

“ I should be very, very angry if you did. 
You must not disobey me. Do you promise ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, I promise ; but don’t look at me 
with such queer eyes ; you make me fright- 
ened.” 

You have no cause to be frightened ; go 
to sleep again.” 

Meanwhile Pelham, hailing a hansom, drove 
straight to his chambers in Temple Court. 
He entered his sitting-room, and then started 
back with an impatient exclamation. Tarbot 
was standing on the hearth. 

“ I am sorry you cannot give me a welcome, 
Pelham,” said the other man. He came for- 
ward as he spoke, and held out his hai;id. 
“ Have you been to see little Sir Piers ? ” 

“Yes,” answered Pelham. 

“ What did you think of him ?” 

“ He seems very weak. I don't much like 
his state.” 

“ Oh, we’ll pull him through,” said Tarbot, 
speaking in a cheerful tone. “ I am glad you 
went to see him ; he has taken a great fancy to 
you.” 

“ We were always the best of chums,” said 
Pelham shortly. “ Take a chair, Won't you ? 
Can I do anything ? ” 


A Post Obit, 


45 


“ That’s a civil way of asking why I take the 
liberty of calling. The fact is, I have come on 
a matter of great importance.” 

Pelham remained motionless. He had not 
seated himself, but stood on the hearth where 
Tarbot had stood a minute or two before. His 
blue eyes were fixed upon Luke Tarbot’s face. 
The surgeon gazed straight up at the young 
man. 

“ So you are engaged to Barbara Evershed,” 
Tarbot said abruptly. 

“Yes ; but how do you know ?” Pelham’s 
face was crimson. 

“You are engaged to the girl I meant to 
marry. You must forgive me if I fail to con- 
gratulate you.” 

Pelham’s blue eyes wore a stormy expres- 
sion. 

“ This is an awful blow to me, but all the 
same, for the sake of the girl, I want to help 
you. I know more about Mrs. Evershed than 
you have any idea of. She is in serious diffi- 
culties. Although you are engaged to Miss 
Evershed, you have not a chance of marrying 
her, because you are a poor man. Miss Ever- 
shed, as far as I can make out, will not allow 
the engagement to become public. That is 
an awkward thing for you. You would like 
to have everything straight and above board, 
would you not ? ” 

“ That goes without saying,” answered Dick. 


46 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ But excuse me, Dr. Tarbot, I can scarcely 
understand ” 

My object in taking any trouble in the 
matter?’^ continued Tarbot. “It never oc- 
curred to you, did it, that there might be such 
a thing as disinterested love ? ’’ 

“ You are not the man to do anything noble 
without an object.” 

“ You are unfair to me, Pelham, and I shall 
prove to you that you are in the wrong. Mrs. 
Evershed’s difficulties are most serious. Be- 
tween her and ruin there is but a step. Now, 
it so happens that I can help her.” 

“ You can help her— how ?” 

“ By the loan of a sufficient sum of money 
to put her straight with her creditors for a con- 
siderable time.” 

“ Then for Heaven’s sake do it, Tarbot. It 
would be a generous action.” 

“ And why, according to your own showing, 
should Luke Tarbot be the man to do a gener- 
ous action ? ” asked the doctor. 

Again Pelham was silent. Tarbot took a 
step forward. Pelham looked him full in the 
eyes. 

“You want to say something. Say it 
quickly,” he cried. “To be frank with you, 
Tarbot, there are some men whom I like, and 
some ” 

“For whom you have an antipathy,” said 
Dr. Tarbot. 


A Post Obit. 


47 


Pelham nodded. 

“ Then in that case all is fair and above board 
between us,” said Tarbot. “We both want the 
same girl ; we have both fought for her. You 
have won and I have lost. The loser in the 
game has seldom an admiration for the win- 
ner, but all the same, for the sake of this girl, 
I will help you to do a generous thing.” 

“ What is that ? ” 

Tarbot bent forward and said in a low tone, 

“ I will lend Mrs. Evershed ten thousand 
pounds on condition that you pay me back on 
the day you come in for the Pelham estates.” 

Pelham’s face turned white. 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Exactly what I say. I will lend you that 
sum to help Mrs. Evershed on that one condi- 
tion and that alone. You will have, of course, 
to sign a fost ohit^ but such things are done 
every day. On the day you come in for the 
estates, worth over sixty thousand a year, you 
will pay me back that trifling loan. Are you 
willing to oblige Barbara’s mother, or are you 
not?” 


48 


On the BrinTc of a Chasm. 


CHAPTER V. 

“ I HAVE MISJUDGED HIM.” 

Two or three days later Pelham received a 
note from Barbara Evershed. 

“ Dearest Dick, come and see me at once,” 
she wrote. “ Something most wonderful and 
unexpected has happened.” 

Pelham, who was just attending to his first 
brief, started up with an exclamation, put on 
his hat, and in half an hour had arrived at Mrs. 
Evershed’s house in Mark Place. He was ad- 
mitted at once, and ran up to the drawing-room, 
where Barbara was waiting for him. 

“ Dear old Dick,” she cried, “ I am about 
the happiest girl on earth ! ” 

“ But what has happened ? I never saw you 
look so excited before.” 

“ I have reason to be excited. We can be 
engaged now quite openly. Oh, how happy 
lam!” 

“And so am I, Barbara, if it is true ; but has 
your mother given her consent ? ” 

“ Yes, it is all right now. Everything has 
come right, and in such a wonderful, marvel- 
ous way,” 


49 


I Have Misjudged Him.” 

Tell me the story.” 

“ I must begin at the beginning. You know 
I hinted to you about poor mother’s money 
difficulties ? ” 

“Yes, Barbara.” 

“Well, they are all put right ; and so sud- 
denly, so unexpectedly. And who do you 
think has done it ? Why, Dr. Tarbot — the man 
I almost hated. He has lent mother ten thou- 
sand pounds, and on such easy terms that it 
will be possible for her to repay it all by 
degrees. 

“ He says he doesn’t mind when the capital 
is returned, and she is only to pay four per 
cent, interest. You can’t imagine what a relief 
it is. The poor dear had been getting into 
most awful trouble, and those horrid money- 
lenders were getting her into their clutches. 

“ She told me only yesterday that unless I 
engaged myself to Lord Selwyn — (Dick, Dick, 
think of it, that old horror ! that dreadful, 
withered-up old creature !) — she said that un- 
less I could bring myself to accept his proposals 
she would have to try to borrow money from 
the Jews, and they would charge twenty or 
thirty per cent, interest. She said we might 
keep on for another few weeks and then we 
must go under. 

“ Oh, Dick, if it hadn’t been for you, I must 
have yielded, for, after all, she is my mother, 
and I love her dearly ! She spoke of the awful 
4 


5o On the Brink of a Chasm. 

scandal, the disgrace, the debts, the apgry 
creditors, her appearance in a public court. 
Oh, it nearly broke my heart ! 

“ There, don’t cry, my dearest girl,” said 
Pelham, for Barbara, overcome by her emotions, 
had laid her head on his shoulder and burst 
into a passion of tears. 

“ I am all right now,” she said, quickly re- 
covering herself. “ It is over, and Dr. Tarbot 
has done it all. He is our blessing, our good 
angel.” 

Pelham was silent. 

“ It happened last night. Mother and I had 
a long conversation, and at last I told her I 
would think over matters, and let her know 
my decision within an hour. I never meant 
to yield, Dick, so you need not look at me so 
reproachfully, but it was my only chance to 
gain time, and just then Dr. Tarbot was an- 
nounced. 

“ I went out of the room, for I did not want 
to see him. Little I knew what he had come 
about, ungrateful girl that I was. He and 
mother sat together and had a long, long con- 
versation, and I went up to my room. I 
thought everything was lost. And then at last 
I heard Dr. Tarbot go. The next instant mother 
rushed up-stairs, opened my door, came up to 
me, and clasped me in her arms. 

“ ‘ Darling, darling, we are saved ! ’ she cried 

“ ‘ What can you mean ? ' I answered. 


“ I Have Misjudged Him.” 51 

It is all Dr. Tarbot’s doing ; he has proved 
our good angel; said mother. ‘ He will lend 
me ten thousand pounds within a week from 
now. Oh, Barbara, he is doing it so hand- 
somely, so splendidly ! 

‘ Barbara child, you ought to marry him. 
He loves you, he told me how he loved you ; 
he said it was on your account he was doing 
it. He didn’t press that you should engage 
yourself to him. On the contrary, he seemed 
quite hopeless about it. But, Barbara, he is a 
man in a thousand.’ 

“ ‘ I am greatly obliged to him,’ I said. ‘ I 
think he is quite splendid ; I didn’t know it was 
in him ; but, mother dear, I cannot show my 
gratitude in that way — I can never marry him.’ 

My darling, he makes no conditions. He 
said you were not to be persecuted on his ac- 
count. I almost think he would have preferred 
your not knowing that he has behaved so well 
to me. Now, Barbara, you queer girl, have 
you nothing to say to me, no secret you are 
keeping from me ? I have rather suspected it 
for the last few days.’ 

“ Dick, that was my opportunity. I could 
not help it — I burst out with everything. I 
told mother all about my great, great passion- 
ate love for you. She was so kind to me, and 
so relieved about her money affairs, that she 
consented to my becoming engaged to you. 

“She even said she thought Dr, Tarbot 


52 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

would like it. Just imagine it, Dick ! Could 
you for a moment have believed that it was in 
that man to be so generous ? Oh, how bitterly 
I have misjudged him ! I should like to go 
on my knees to him. 

“Well, mother told me I must write to you 
early this morning, and ask you to stay to 
lunch, and we can be engaged now before all 
the world. As soon as you have a little home 
for me, Dick, however humble, I will come to 
it with delight.” 

To this exciting narrative Pelham made 
short replies. He said he was very glad, but 
his enthusiasm with regard to Tarbot was not 
what the girl had expected. On the contrary, 
whenever Tarbot’s name was mentioned Pel- 
ham’s face became grave and stern. 

“ What is the matter, Dick ? ” said Barbara 
at last. “Why do you look like that?— 
you have such a queer expression in your 
eyes.” 

“ Have I, Barbara ? I ought to have a 
delighted expression— the thought of winning 
you is enough to make any man happy.” 

“ But are you not grateful to Dr. Tarbot ? ” 

“ Don’t question me. I have an unreason- 
able— no, perhaps it is not unreasonable— but I 
have a very strong dislike to him.” 

“ Surely that is unkind. I own, until yester- 
day I quite shared your feeling, but how can 
I think it any longer ? I almost believe that I 


“ I Have Misjudged Him/' 53 

could love him. At least I must tell him how 
very grateful I am for what he has done/’ 

Pelham looked stern. 

“Dick, what is the matter ?” 

“Don’t say too much about him, Barbara. 
1 must tell you plainly that I do not like this. 
It seems to me as if I owed you to Tarbot’s 
action. It all sounds very generous, but then 
you are not behind the scenes. I don’t want 
to be in debt to Tarbot for anything. Oh, 
there, there, dear,” for Barbara’s face had 
clouded and then became very white. “ It is 
all right now, and it is a blessed relief, and 
we’ll be married as soon as we can, little 
woman. I was attending to my first brief 
when your fascinating little note arrived. 

“ I rushed off to you, of course, for what 
are briefs to me when you want me ? But 
now I shall attend to business with a will. I 
have about three hundred a year of my own 
— a mere nothing, of course — but we might 
be married in the autumn. We could begin 
in a small way, and hope for the time when I 
shall earn enough to give you the comforts you 
ought to have, my darling.” 

“ I don’t want comforts, or luxuries,” said 
Barbara. “ I just want to be with you. Yes, 
we’ll be married in the autumn, Dick. I don’t 
wish to wait. I don’t care how poor you are. 
Oh, that is mother’s step. Now, Dick darling, 
be kind to her, she has gone through a great 


54 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

deal. Money troubles are enough to take the 
heart out of any one. Be very nice to her, 
dearest. Be as grateful as you can.” 

As Barbara uttered the last words the draw- 
ing-room door was opened and Mrs. Evershed 
came in. She was a handsome woman, tall 
and stately. . There were hard, worn lines 
round her mouth, but her relief was expressed 
in the eyes, which were still shining as if 
through recent tears, and in the mouth, which 
smiled, notwithstanding its tenseness. Pel- 
ham went up to her eagerly. 

“ Is what Barbara tells me true, Mr. Pelham ?” 
said Mrs. Evershed. 

“ It is perfectly true,” replied the young 
man. “ I love Barbara with all my heart. 
She has promised to marry me, but we should 
both like your consent.” 

“ That means,” said Mrs. Evershed, “ that 
you would marry without it.” 

“ I should,” was the quick response ; “ but 
I doubt whether Barbara would yield to my 
entreaties.” 

“ I don’t know what I should have done if 
I had been tried,” said Barbara, “ but luckily 
it is not necessary. Mother consents, don’t 
you, mother — you consent to make me happy 
in my own way ? ” 

“Yes, my child, I cannot refuse my con- 
sent. I have been relieved of a great load of 
care, Mr. Pelham, and it behooves me to be 


“ I Have Misjudged Him/’ 55 

good to others. I may as well say frankly that 
I had more ambitious views for Barbara, al- 
though, of course, I like you personally very 
much.” 

As Mrs. Evershed said the last words she 
held out her hand. 

I give my consent, Dick,” she said softly. 
The young man grasped the hand she offered. 

“ You are more than good,” he said. “ You 
make me happier than I have words to ex- 
press.” 

“ Well, come down and have lunch with 
us now. I shall have much, of course, to talk 
to you about afterwards. Yes, I allow the 
engagement, but the marriage need not take 
place for some time.” 

“ We can talk that over by and by, mother,” 
said Barbara. “Come, Dick ; come to lunch. 
I am so hungry.” 

They had just assembled in the dining-room 
when there came a ring at the front door, and 
a moment later Tarbot appeared. He entered 
the room hurriedly, shook hands with Mrs. 
Evershed, nodded to Pelham, and then ap- 
proached Barbara’s side. When she saw him 
her face grew white. She looked round her 
eagerly ; the servant had withdrawn. She 
held out both her hands then and clasped 
Tarbot’s. 

“ I must thank you here and now,” she said. 
“ I do so with a full heart. I did not know it 


56 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

was in you. You are the most generous man 
in the world.” 

A queer look came into Tarbot’s face. His 
eager eyes looked into the girl’s ; they glit- 
tered with suppressed emotion. He tried to 
say something, but no words would come. 
Barbara’s girlish thanks unnerved him. Pel- 
ham was watching him intently. The next 
moment the little party were seated at the 
luncheon table. ' 

Just as the servant was handing an entree^ 
Tarbot glanced at Mrs. Evershed and spoke 
quietly. 

“ This is very sad about Piers Pelham.” 

“What about him?” asked Mrs. Evershed. 

Pelham dropped his knife and fork. Bar- 
bara looked up with interrogation and alarm 
in her eyes. 

“ I am sorry to say that the child is dan- 
gerously ill. I have been obliged to consult 
Williamson. He thinks badly of the case. 
All depends on the next few days, but at the 
present moment his life hangs in the balance.” 


The Kiss. 


57 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE KISS. 

Late in the afternoon of that same day, 
Barbara Evershed called at 12 Ashley Man- 
sions. 

“ How is Sir Piers?” she asked of the serv- 
ant who opened the door. 

“ Very ill, miss." 

“ Is Mrs. Pelham at home ?” 

‘‘Yes.” 

The man knew Barbara, and invited her to 
enter. 

“ I am quite sure Mrs. Pelham will be glad 
to see you. Miss ; she has mentioned your 
name once or twice to-day.” 

“ I will find her myself,” said Barbara ; 
“ don’t come up-stairs.” 

The girl ran quickly up the richly carpeted 
stairs, and a moment later knocked at a 
door. A voice said “ Come in,” and she en- 
tered. 

Mrs. Pelham started up when Barbara ap- 
peared. 

“ Oh, I am glad to see you,” she exclaimed. 


58 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ Come over here, sit down near me. Have 
you heard the— the news 1 ” 

The widow’s lips trembled, and her eyelids 
were red from weeping. 

“ The news about Piers ? ” said Barbara. 
“ Oh, I don’t believe for a moment it is so bad 
Dear Mrs. Pelham, don’t give way ; try, try 
to bear up.” For the poor woman had sud- 
denly flung her arms round Barbara’s neck 
and burst into a passion of convulsive weeping. 

“ He is dying ! ” she exclaimed. “ He has 
such dreadful fainting fits. The doctors say 
that there is no hope. There were two of 
them here this morning. They say that in all 
probability little Piers will be dead before 
many days are over. Oh, Barbara, I am glad 
you have called. It seems a queer, wild thing 
to say, but I do believe you can save him.” 

“I 1 What do you mean ? ” said Barbara, 
coloring vividly. 

“ He has been often asking for you and Dick 
— he loves you both so much. Do you know, 
Barbara, I have taken a most terrible dislike 
to that red-haired nurse ? ” 

“ Is she a trained nurse ? ” 

“Yes, the one Dr. Tarbot insists on having. 
She belongs to his special staff. Sir Richard 
Spears, as well as Mr. Williamson, called to- 
day. I said something about having in a 
second nurse, but Dr. Tarbot said at once that 
it was not necessary.” 


The Kiss. 59 

“ You ought to do what you please,” said 
Barbara. 

“ He is a very determined man, Barbara, 
and I dare not oppose him. It seems to me 
as if I had not the management of my own 
child, and it is hard, bitterly hard. Oh, I 
cannot believe that my darling is leaving me.” 

“ I don’t think it can be true,” said Barbara. 
She stood upright. All the happiness which 
had filled her eyes left them, and her face 
looked grave and older than her years. 

“ I don’t think God can mean little Piers to 
die,” she repeated. “ I am sorry you do not 
like the nurse, for so much depends on nurs- 
ing in cases of bad illness. May I go up to 
see Piers now, Mrs. Pelham?” 

“ Oh, my darling, I wish you would. I have 
a feeling that you can save him.” 

“ I shall only be too delighted to go and sit 
in the room and do anything the nurse says. 
I have always been fond of Piers. He has 
been like a little brother to me.” 

“ Barbara, I shall die if my only child is 
taken from me.” 

“ But he may be spared,” exclaimed Bar- 
bara eagerly. There was hope in her young 
voice. 

Mrs. Pelham dried her tears. 

“ Go up and see him, Barbara,” she said. 
“ Go now, at once ; the nurse may try to pre- 
vent it, but insist on seeing him. He ought 


6o 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


not to be left alone with that strange woman, 
and she never likes me to be long in the room. 
Children have got better, haven’t they, even 
when the doctors have given them up ? ” 

“ Over and over again,” said Barbara. “ Yes, 
I’ll go up at once.” 

‘ She left the drawing-room and ran up-stairs. 
She knew Piers’s beautiful room well, and 
softly opened the door. Within was darkness. 
A woman in full nurse’s dress confronted the 
girl. 

“What do you want? You must not come 
in here,” said Nurse Ives. 

“ My name is Evershed,” said Barbara, drop- 
ping her voice to a very low tone. “ I have 
come to see Piers. I am one of his greatest 
friends. I have known him all his life. May 
I come in and sit with him for a little ? I 
should like it so much, and I would be quiet. 
I would do just what you wished.” 

“ You cannot come in,” said the nurse. “ I 
cannot permit it. No stranger is to be allowed 
to come into the room. I am acting on the 
doctor’s authority.” As Nurse Ives spoke 
Barbara found herself edged, against her will, 
on to the landing. A very weak voice in- 
side the room called her name — “ Barbara ! 
Barbara ! ” 

“ Oh, he heard my voice ; he wants me. 
Do— do, nurse, let me go to him— please, 
nurse.” 


The Kiss. 


6i 


“ I cannot,” said the nurse. “ Stay where 
you are for a moment. I will go back to him.” 

She reentered the room and said something 
to the child which Barbara could not hear, and 
returned. 

“You cannot see the boy — I have Dr. Tar- 
bot’s orders. Now please go away. I must 
return to him immediately.” 

As the woman spoke she went back to the 
sick-room and shut the door in Barbara’s face. 
Just for a moment the girl lingered on the land- 
ing, then a resolved expression filled her 
eyes. 

“You will not let me in without Dr. Tarbot’s 
permission. Then I will go and obtain it,” she 
said aloud. “ I will see Piers, come what 
may.” 

She ran down-stairs. Mrs. Pelham met her 
on the landing. 

“Well ?” she said eagerly. “ Did you see 
him ? What did you think of him ? Was the 
nurse very unpleasant ? Oh, Barbara dear, I 
shall go mad if nothing is done ! Oh, if I could 
only get that woman out of the house ! ” 

“ She seems a good and capable nurse,” said 
Barbara. “ Don’t get too nervous, please, Mrs. 
Pelham. The boy is ill, and I should like be- 
yond anything to be with him. No, dear, she 
would not let me see him. He heard me, 
and called me, the darling ; but she would not 
let me in. I have made up my mind, how- 


62 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


ever. I am going straight off now to get Dr. 
Tarbot’s permission. If he says I may see 
Piers, it will be all right.” 

“That’s splendid, Barbara ! Do go at once. 
It is so queer that the only person who is 
allowed freely to see the dear little fellow is 
Dick. Dr. Tarbot does not mind Dick being 
with him, nor does the nurse, and Dick calls 
every day. He will be here soon. It is the 
greatest possible comfort to me to have the 
dear fellow about the house. He is almost 
like a son of my own. You know, dear, how 
much I have always loved him. Oh, and you 
are engaged to him, Barbara. Yes, I know ; 
the report has reached me. He will be a hus- 
band in a thousand. I am glad you are going 
to be happy with him some day. Yes, when 
Dick comes he will sit with Piers, but he does 
not often come until late, and if you could be 
with the darling until Dick arrives I should not 
be nearly so anxious.” 

“ Well, hope for the best now, dear Mrs. 
Pelham. I will go off at once to see Dr. 
Tarbot.” 

Barbara ran down-stairs. Ashley Mansions 
was within a stone’s throw of Harley Street. 
In less than five minutes she was standing on 
the steps of Dr. Tarbot’s house, and the door 
was immediately opened in answer to her ring. 
She asked if Dr. Tarbot was in. 

“ Yes, Miss,” replied the footman. 


The Kiss. 


63 


“ I want to see him immediately.*’ 

The man invited her in. 

“ What name ? ” he asked. 

“ Say that Miss Evershed has called. Say 
also that my business is of an urgent nature.” 

The man showed Barbara into the dining- 
room and withdrew. A moment later Tarbot 
entered the room. He came forward eagerly, 
his thin lips twitching, his eyes full of subdued 
light. 

“ To what am I indebted for this pleasure ? ’* 
he began. 

Barbara interrupted him. 

“ I want to ask you a great favor. Dr. Tarbot.” 

“What is it?” 

“ I wish to sit up with little Piers to-night.” 

On hearing these words the expression on 
Tarbot's face altered. 

“Are you mad ?” he asked, looking full at 
the girl. 

“ No ; I am sane.” 

“ Do you know anything whatever of nurs- 
ing?” 

“ I don’t want to nurse — there is a profes- 
sional nurse to do that. I want to stay with 
the child, to hold his hand, to be with him. 
It is unkind to leave him with strangers.” 

“Miss Evershed,” said Tarbot suddenly, “ I 
would do much for you, you know that.” The 
look in the doctor’s eyes became eager, and 
Barbara shrank towards the door. 


64 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ I would do much for you,” he continued, 
“ but where my professional duties are con- 
cerned I have no choice. I would rather that 
the nurse had the entire care of Piers.” 

“Oh, I cannot see any reason for this,” said 
Barbara, clasping her hands. “ Besides,” she 
added eagerly, “you allow Dick Pelham to be 
with him.” 

“ Pelham is different. He has been with 
the boy from the first. It would be unkind to 
turn him out of the room, but your face would 
be a fresh one. The child’s condition is most 
serious. Any extra excitement might stop the 
heart which is so dangerously affected.” 

“Can I not induce you to grant my request ? 
Little Piers called out for me when I went to 
the door just now — he heard my voice. Is not 
happiness good for sick people ? Is not hap- 
piness, and a little bit of their own way, quite 
as valuable as your most potent drugs ? Oh, 
I believe such to be the case— I am sure I am 
right. Dr. Tarbot, do allow me to have my 
wish. It cannot possibly injure Piers for me 
to sit with him, and I am always quiet and 
never excitable. It would make him happy ! 
Please grant my desire.” 

While Barbara spoke, the eager light in her 
eyes, the tremulous movement of her beautiful 
lips, her young figure all alive with the sym- 
pathy and longing which filled her soul, 
brought to Tarbot a moment of mad brief temp- 


The Kiss. 65 

tation. His own eyes glittered. He came 
close to the girl. 

“You want this favor badly ?” he asked. 

“Yes.” 

“ If I grant it, will you do something for 
me?” 

“ Need you ask ?” 

“ I will grant your wish on a condition.” 

Tarbot’s face grew white. He came still 
closer to Barbara. 

“ Well ?” she asked impatiently. 

“ If I allow you to sit with little Piers to- 
night will you — kiss me ? ” 

Barbara staggered and caught a chair to 
steady herself. 

“ An hour ago I thought you a good man,” 
she said at last slowly. “ I was mistaken. I 
cannot sit with Piers on those terms. Good 
night.” 

Tarbot quickly recovered himself. 

“ Forgive me ! Forgive me ! ” he cried. “ I 
was mad for a moment. It is your fault. 
Why are you so beautiful, so lovable ? Oh, 
Barbara, you could have made a good man of 
me, and now I am he breathed the words 
low — “ a devil ! But forgive me. Come, I 
will go back with you. You shall have your 
wish. I grant it without any condition. I will 
accompany you to Ashley Mansions and take 
you into the sick-room.” 

Barbara said nothing. Her first impulse 


66 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

was to go straight home to her mother, but 
thoughts of Piers and of the benefit she might 
do him caused her to change her mind. She 
walked quickly back to Ashley Mansions with 
the surgeon, neither of them speaking a word. 

Mrs. Pelham was waiting by the drawing- 
room door. 

“ It is all right,” said Barbara, nodding to 
her. “ Dr. Tarbot will allow me to stay with 
Piers to-night.” 

“ Thank God ! ” answered Mrs. Pelham. 
“ I am greatly obliged to you, doctor, for this. 
Barbara, dear, Dick is up-stairs. He arrived 
almost immediately after you left. There 
seems to be some commotion in the sick-room. 
I heard steps hurrying about, but I am too 
frightened to go and inquire. Go and tell me 
quickly if anything is wrong.” 

Barbara nodded, and the girl and the doctor 
went up-stairs. When they reached the thresh- 
old of the room Tarbot turned and looked 
full at Barbara. 

“ Say that you forgive the impulse which 
came over me half an hour ago.” 

Barbara hesitated ; then her words came 
out, very low. 

“ I will — try.” 

“ Come this way.” Tarbot opened the door. 
The two passed beyond the screen. The room 
was no longer dark — it was lit up with bril- 
liance. 


The Kiss. 


67 

Pelham and Nurse Ives were both standing 
by the bed. When Pelham saw Barbara he 
uttered a cry. Nurse Ives looked at the doctor 
and nodded to him to come forward. 

In the bed lay a little figure perfectly mo- 
tionless, and as if carved in marble. 


68 


On the Brink of a Chasm, 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE CAUSE OF DEATH. 

Barbara tried to hurry forward, but Tarbot 
pushed her aside. He bent over the child and 
examined him carefully. The boy was ab- 
solutely unconscious and icy cold. He looked 
exactly like one dead. Was he dead ? Bar- 
bara’s heart beat so hard that she fancied it 
must be heard. She had never seen death 
before. Did it look like that ?— was there 
always that absence of all movement, that queer 
gray look on the face ? Already it seemed to 
Barbara that she scarcely knew little Piers. 

Tarbot did not speak for a moment ; then he 
turned to the nurse. 

“ How long has the boy been in this state ? ” 

“ Not long— about a quarter of an hour.” 

“ Tell me what occurred.” 

Barbara, scarcely able to control herself, had 
walked to the window. She now came for- 
ward and stood at the foot of the bed. Pelham 
had placed himself close to the little motion- 
less figure, and once or twice his hand touched 
the boy’s clustering dark curls. Nurse Ives 


The Cause of Death. 69 

faced the doctor. She held herself erect. 
The electric light lit up each feature. Her 
harsh face, her red hair, her pale blue eyes, 
and the ugly red scar across her forehead were 
all distinctly visible. 

Barbara shuddered as she looked at her. 
Was it possible that a woman like that had 
attended the sweet little child during his last 
hours ? The girl found herself shivering from 
head to foot. 

“Tell me how this happened, nurse,'’ said 
Tarbot in a gentle voice. 

“ As you know, doctor,” said the nurse, “ the 
child has been subject to bad fainting fits.” 

Tarbot nodded. 

“ The stimulants had a certain effect on the 
heart,” continued Nurse Ives, “but the im- 
provement always passed away quickly. Not- 
withstanding the large amount of nourishment 
he took, the boy was thoroughly exhausted. 
Miss Evershed came up on the landing and I 
went to speak to her. The boy heard her 
voice and got into a state of excitement, too 
much for him in his feeble state. I did not 
dare to allow her to come in. When he found 
I would not admit her he began to cry, and I 
was just repenting of my own determination, 
when to my great relief Mr. Pelham came into 
the room. When he saw the child he put his 
arms round him and raised him slightly on his 
pillow. 


7o On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“‘You must not move him too much,’ I 
said ; ‘ in the state of his heart the least ex- 
ertion is bad.’ ” 

“Bad!” exclaimed Tarbot. “In the con- 
dition the child was in, the slightest movement 
might have proved fatal.” 

Pelham’s face, already white, now looked 
ghastly. He ceased to touch little Piers’s curls. 
With his arms flung at his sides, he turned 
and faced the doctor. 

“May I continue the story?” he asked 
abruptly. 

“ Certainly,” said Tarbot, turning and facing 
him. 

“ I thought the boy very bad ; I noticed how 
weak he was and the blue look round his lips. 
I asked the nurse if he ought not to have some 
medicine. She told me that his medicine was 
finished, and that the chemist had not yet sent 
a fresh supply. I then asked her to give him 
brandy. She brought some. I endeavored 
to put a little between his lips. Nurse came 
up and watched me as I did so. 

“ ‘ He ought to have the proper medicine,’ 
she said. 

“ She asked me to fetch it. She gave me 
the address of the chemist, and I rushed off. 
I was absent about ten minutes. When I 
came back with the medicine the boy was 
looking very queer and white. Nurse took 
the bottle into the dressing-room and I ac- 


The Cause of Death. 71 

companied her. She poured out a dose and 
gave it to me. She stayed in the dressing- 
room while I went back to the room. The 
light was dim, for the boy complained of it 
hurting his eyes. I raised him up and man- 
aged to get the medicine between his lips. I 
had scarcely done so before nurse came back. 
She said he ought to be better now, that the 
medicine was a very strong heart stimulant 
and ought to act immediately. 

“ I told her I did not think it was doing so. 
It seemed to me that the child’s breathing was 
becoming slower and slower. I touched his 
forehead and it was cold. I looked round at 
the nurse. 

“ ‘ Is anything the matter ?’ she asked. 

“ ‘ I do not like the condition of the child,’ 
I said. The moment I said so she started up, 
switched on the light and bent over him. 

“ ‘ Go down-stairs and fetch up some more 
brandy,’ she said. 

“ I ran down. I did not want to frighten 
Mrs. Pelham, and I could not find the butler 
immediately. I had to go down to the kitchen 
premises in search of him. This caused a 
delay, and I was not back in the sick-room for 
two or three minutes. When I returned the 
child was in his present condition. How 
dreadfully bad he looks ! What is the matter ?” 

Tarbot made no reply. 

He bent again over the child. Once again 


72 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

he held the pulseless wrist between his finger 
and thumb ; once again he listened at the cold 
still heart. 

Barbara and Pelham now stood side by 
side at the foot of the bed. Having made his 
brief examination, Tarbot stood up and faced 
them. 

“ The king is dead ! Long live the king ! 
he exclaimed. He held out his hand to 
Pelham. 

Pelham turned white as death. 

“Dead! What do you mean?” he ex- 
claimed. “ The child cannot be dead. I don’t 
believe it.” 

“ Look for yourself,” said Tarbot. “What 
does this mean but death ? The heart has 
ceased, to beat, the body is already turning 
cold. I will see the child again within a few 
hours, but in my opinion he is dead. I — you 
will allow me to congratulate you.” 

“ Oh, Dr. Tarbot,” cried Barbara, “ you 
cannot say such awful words now ! Congratu- 
late Dick ! Congratulate Dick ! What do 
you mean ? ” 

She began to tremble. Pelham put his 
arm round her. 

“ Come out of the room,” he said. 

On the landing Barbara’s self-control com- 
pletely forsook her. She began to cry in a 
terrified, painful sort of way. Tarbot heard 
her sobs and went out. 


The Cause of Death. 73 

“ Now, this is wrong,” he said, speaking in 
his most professional manner. “ Of course it 
is all terribly sad, but Dr. Williamson and Sir 
Richard Spears and I expected the child’s 
death. His heart was terribly affected. Had 
he lived he would never have been strong, 
and would have suffered much. Although he 
was rich, his life would not have been a happy 
one. I did not think death would have been 

quite so sudden, but By the way. Miss 

Evershed, can you control yourself ? ” 

“ I will try to,” said Barbara. 

“ Will you do something for me ?” 

“What?” 

“Will you break this terrible news to Mrs. 
Pelham ?” 

“ Oh, I cannot, I cannot,” said the girl, trem- 
bling and covering her face. 

“ That means that you will not ? You are, 
I know, a brave woman. Ought you to think 
of yourself in a moment like this ? ” 

The girl colored ; then drew herself to- 
gether. 

“You do right to remind me,” she said. 
“ I would not be a coward for the world. If 
you think it right, I will go to her.” 

“ I do. I knew you had plenty of pluck.” 

Barbara glanced up at Pelham. There was 
an expression on his face which she had never 
seen there before. It puzzled and terrified 
her. 


74 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ Go, dearest,’' he said, bending down and 
kissing heron the forehead. “ Go. God help 
you ! God help us both ! ” 

Barbara ran down-stairs. 

“Pelham, this is a grand thing for you,” 
said Tarbot. 

“ I forbid you to speak of the change in 
my prospects to-night,” said the young man 
impetuously. I cannot stand this — it all 
looks ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ The least said, soonest mended,” said 
Pelham. “ I am in no fit state to speak to any 
one now. I will leave you. Dr. Tarbot. I can 
do no good here. I will come back in the 
morning.” 

He rushed down-stairs, and the next instant 
let himself out of the house. 

Tarbot remained on the landing a moment ; 
then he returned to the boy’s nursery. Al- 
ready over the features of the child that look 
of repose had crept which only death is sup- 
posed to give. The nurse was beginning to 
lay out the little body. She now stood still 
awaiting the doctor’s directions. 

“ Death has come rather sooner than I ex- 
pected,” said Dr. Tarbot. “ It was doubtless 
due to shock— the shock which caused death 
was the sudden appearance on the scene of 
Sir Richard Pelham.” 

The nurse stood up and stared full at 


The Cause of Death. 75 

Tarbot. She made no reply. There was a 
scornful expression round her lips. 

“It is best that we should talk in this 
strain,” said Tarbot, dropping his voice. “ I 
repeat, the shock which caused death was the 
sudden appearance on the scene of Sir Rich- 
ard Pelham.” 

“ I don’t think so ; the boy was fond of 
his cousin.” 

“ He was ; but love is too mighty an emotion 
when life ebbs so low. We should never 
have pulled him through. Well, nurse, it is a 
fine thing for Sir Richard.” 

“ I fail to understand you,” said the nurse. 
Then she added significantly, “ I have done 
my part well ? ” 

“ Admirably.” 

“You will keep your part of the bargain?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Then you will give a certificate of death I ” 

“ For the sake of appearances, I should like 
to see the child again in the morning, but I am 
as sure that death has already taken place as 
that I am now talking to you. In the morn- 
ing I can write the certificate.” 

“ What cause will you give for death ? ” asked 
the woman. 

“ Collapse from cardiac failure.” 

“ I shall stay here to-night,” said Nurse 
Ives. 

“ Do so, nurse. I should wish you to stay 


76 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

for the next day or two, as you will probably 
have to look after the mother. She is certain 
to be terribly prostrated ; I am going to her 
now. I sent Miss Evershed to break the news 
to her.” 

“ That is a kind girl, a fine girl,” said Nurse 
Ives. As she spoke she raised her eyes and 
fixed them on Tarbot’s face. Her glance took 
him by surprise. He looked away, and a dull 
red crept into the woman’s face. She tight- 
ened her thin lips, and there came an ominous 
gleam in her pale blue eyes. 

“Is Sir Richard here?” she asked after a 
moment. 

“ No, he has gone. By the way, nurse, don’t 
throw away that last bottle of medicine.” 

“ You had better take it with you. Dr. Tar- 
bot.” 

“ No, I will not do that. Leave it where it 
can be got when the moment arrives. Put it 
into the cupboard and lock the cupboard. 
Mrs. Pelham will not change the arrangement 
of the room for some time. I shall write a 
certificate of death in the morning.” 

Once again Tarbot strode up to the bed 
and looked at the body. The child was now 
faintly smiling with that ineffable smile of peace 
which death seems always to give. Heaving a 
brief sigh of satisfaction, Tarbot turned on his 
heel and left the room. 


The Long Trunk. 


77 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE LONG TRUNK. 

It was certified that Piers Pelham, baronet, 
aged seven, had come by his death owing to 
cardiac failure. The certificate to this effect 
was duly signed by the well-known Dr. Tarbot, 
one of the cleverest and most rising doctors in 
Harley Street. The great specialists who had 
been called in to see the child expressed no 
surprise when they heard of the death ; only 
one of them remarked that he did not think the 
end would have come quite so soon. 

In other quarters there was a certain amount 
of gossip. Dick Pelham was considered won- 
derfully lucky. Before the child’s death he 
had been a mere nobody— a briefless barris- 
ter with the ordinary chances of a moderate 
success. Now he was a man of vast importance 
— the baronetcy was one of the oldest in Eng- 
land, and the acres which belonged to the title 
large, fair, and widely spread. 

Pelham’s engagement to Barbara Evershed 
had just been bruited abroad in society, and 
she was heartily congratulated. The whole 


78 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

thing was almost like a story. Nothing could 
have happened in a more opportune way. Of 
course, the death of the child was dreadful, and 
those who knew the little fellow were heartily 
sorry ; but few people did know him, and 
Barbara had a wide circle of friends and ac- 
quaintances. 

Amongst these people the general rumor 
was that the child had been removed at a most 
crucial and happy moment. Mrs. Evershed’s 
monetary affairs would be put straight, and she 
would be the mother-in-law of one of the richest 
men in England. The match was a splendid one 
for her handsome daughter. Yes, Barbara was 
in luck, but as she happened to be a popular 
girl, as the voice of society pronounced her 
fine-spirited, and even noble, there was not 
one who grudged her the happiness which was 
now assuredly to be hers. 

As to the mother of the dead boy, the ter- 
rible shock had brought on a sharp attack of 
nervous fever. A nurse had to be called in to 
look after her. As a matter of course. Nurse 
Ives had been asked to undertake the case, but, 
much to Barbara’s surprise, she absolutely re- 
fused to nurse Mrs. Pelham. 

“ I cannot do it,” she said. “ I will stay in 
the house until another nurse arrives, but I do 
not wish to have anything to do with the 
case.” 

Tarbot was much annoyed at this deci- 


The Long Trunk. 79 

sion, but he could not shake Nurse Ives’s re- 
solve. 

Forty-eight hours after the death of the child 
his coffin arrived. The undertaker’s men 
brought it into the room. Nurse Ives was the 
only one present. The men lifted the little 
body from the bed and laid it in the coffin. 
They then turned to view their work. 

“ He makes a pretty corpse, don’t he ? ” said 
one to the other. 

In truth he did. His face was like a flower, 
for the color had not quite left his cheeks. 

“ You’d a’most fancy he was alive still,” said 
one of the men. “See that touch of pink?” 
He touched the cheek reverently. Nurse Ives 
went up and stood at the head of the bed. She 
gave the man an angry glance and he apolo- 
gized for what he had done. 

“We will come in if you like later on to 
screw down the lid,” he said. 

“ The lid had better be screwed on now,” 
said the nurse. “ There are signs of mortifi- 
cation already setting in, and it would be unwise 
to leave the coffin uncovered any longer. Miss 
Evershed or Mrs. Pelham might come up to 
see the corpse ; it would not be safe, and I 
wish to have the lid screwed on at once.” 

“All right, Miss, we’ll soon put things 
straight.” 

The men put on the lid and screwed it down, 
and then they went away. The moment they 


8o 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


did so a queer look came over Nurse Ives’s 
impassive face. She went quickly to the door 
of the room and locked it. Then, taking a 
turnscrew, she hastily unfastened the screws 
and removed the lid from the top of the coffin. 
Having done this, she lifted the body out. 

Once again she laid it on the bed, and now 
she piled warm blankets over the little body, 
and put a hot bottle, which she had previously 
got ready, to the feet. Then, going to the 
dressin^room, she brought away a small box 
which contained capsules of amyl nitrite. She 
broke one of the capsules in a handkerchief, 
and, holding it close to the nostrils of the 
child, a strong and pungent odor filled 
the room. The face of the dead underwent 
no perceptible change at first, but then 
the faint color in the cheeks increased. A 
look of triumph filled the nurse’s eyes. 

“Good!” she cried. “It is all right. I 
thought I could do it, and I have. Dr. Tarbot 
imagined he would be even with me. He is 
not ; I am his master. What is about to hap- 
pen to-night will come upon him as a blow 
when he least expects it. Yes, all is well ; I 
feather my own nest ; I receive that reward 
for which I have lost my soul. I prepare for 
the evil day. I know what I am about.” 

As these thoughts flew through the woman’s 
mind she went over to the wicker trunk at the 
other end of the room and opened it. The 


8i 


The Long Trunk. 

trunk was of a peculiar shape— much longer 
than is ordinarily made. From this receptacle 
she took out bales of cotton wool and several 
iron weights. She wrapped the wool round 
the weights and filled the coffin with them. 

When she had put in enough wool and iron 
to make up the probable weight of the child, 
she screwed on the lid again, and having done 
so, bent over the little body. The color was 
still in the cheeks, although the cheeks were 
cold, and the eyes remained firmly shut. Not 
a breath passed the lips, not a movement was 
apparent ; still, the woman felt quite satisfied. 
She gave a further sigh of intense relief, and 
throwing an eider-down quilt over the blankets, 
left the room, taking good care to lock the 
door of the chamber of death after her. She 
went the entire length of a long corridor and 
paused outside Mrs. Pelham’s room. The 
other nurse had arrived and was already in 
charge. Barbara Evershed was standing near 
the door. Barbara had seen the undertaker’s 
men bringing up the little coffin, and her eyes 
were red from a fresh burst of tears. 

“ I shall leave to-night,” said Nurse Ives, 
pausing and looking full into the girl’s face. 

“ Will you see Mrs. Pelham ? ” asked 
Barbara. 

“ It will not be necessary ; but if she wishes 
I will go in and say good-by to her.” 

“ I am sure she would like it ; but first a 
6 


82 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

word. Nurse, I saw the coffin brought up- 
stairs.” 

“ Yes, my dear, yes,” said Nurse Ives. She 
did not touch Barbara, but she looked at her 
with a curious expression. “ The coffin has 
arrived and I put the child in.” 

“ I should like to see him once again,” said 
Barbara. 

“You cannot. The lid is screwed on the 
coffin.” 

Barbara’s face flushed. 

“Was that necessary ?” she asked. 

“ Yes ; it was indispensable. I will speak 
to Dr. Tarbot on the subject when he next 
calls. It would not have been safe for you to 
see the little corpse again.” 

Barbara was silent for a moment. 

“ You had better come in and say good-by 
to Mrs. Pelham,” she said then. 

Nurse Ives entered the room. A moment 
later she stood by the sick-bed. Mrs. Pelham, 
with her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright, a 
strained, piteous expression round her trem- 
bling mouth, looked up at the nurse. 

“ Is that you. Nurse Ives ?” she said. 

“ Yes, madam.” 

“ I am sorry you are going to leave me. I 
like to feel that the one who has been with 
my darling at the last is now with me.” 

“ For some reasons I am sorry to go, ma- 
dam, but it is impossible for me to stay. I 


The Long Trunk. 83 

will wish you good-by now. Nurse Hester 
will do all she can for you — will you not, Nurse 
Hester ? ” 

The strange nurse nodded but did not trouble 
herself to speak. She did not like Nurse 
Ives, and she was not going to conceal the 
fact. 

Mrs. Pelham held out her trembling hand. 

“ Good-by,” she said. 

The nurse turned and left the room. Bar- 
bara followed her on to the landing. 

“ I shall go in a couple of hours,” said the 
nurse. “ I am only waiting to see Dr. Tarbot 
and to pack one or two of my things. Ah, I 
think I hear the doctor’s step on the stairs.” 

The woman stood in the shadow, and the 
doctor, without seeing her, entered the sick- 
room. He stayed there for a few moments 
and then came out again, Barbara accompany- 
ing him. 

“ Is that you, nurse ? ” he said. 

“ Yes, sir. I haye waited to speak to you. 
I should like to say a word before I go.” 

“ All right, I can attend to you now. Good 
night. Miss Evershed. I hope you will go to 
bed and have a good sleep. Nurse Hester 
can look after the patient. There is nothing 
to be alarmed about in her condition — she is 
suffering from shock and fever. These symp- 
toms will soon pass off.” 

Barbara reentered the room, and Nurse 


84 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

Ives and Dr. Tarbot walked down the passage 
together. 

“ So you have quite made up your mind to 
go ? ” he said to her. 

“Yes, I leave to-night. I thought I ought 
to tell you that I had the coffin screwed up.” 

“ Indeed ! Is that not rather soon ? ” 

“ Unmistakable signs of mortification have 
already set in.” 

“ Then in that case you did right.” 

“ I thought you ought to know,” said the 
nurse, dropping her eyes. 

“ Certainly. You acted with discretion. 
It would never do, were such the case, for 
Miss Evershed to be bending over the child’s 
body. Girls have so much false sentiment in 
a thing of that kind. The poor little fellow is 
now far beyond the reach of any sympathy 
which earth can give him.” 

“ That is what I thought, doctor. Well, I 
shall leave to-night.” 

“ Shall I order a cab for you ? ” 

“ No, thank you ; I will go out later on and 
see to that myself.” 

“Very well, nurse. Good-by. I shall 
find you at your old quarters, eh ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“You will not undertake a new” case at 
present ? ” 

‘‘ I shall never undertake a new case ; you 
understand our compact ?” 


The Long Trunk. 85 

“ I am not likely to forget. I will call to 
see you to-morrow evening.” 

The doctor ran down-stairs and let himself 
out of the house. Nurse Ives went softly 
back to the room where the child who was 
supposed to be dead lay. Having entered, 
she locked the door. She remained in the 
room for a few minutes and then went down- 
stairs. The footman was in the hall. 

. “Are you going out, nurse ?” he asked. 

“ Yes ; but I shall be back in an hour.” 

“We shall all be glad to retire early to- 
night,” said the man. “ I, for one, am dead 
tired.” 

“ Of course you are, and you need not sit 
up. I am leaving to-night, but not yet.” 

“ Then, of course, one of us must stay up to 
see you out ? ” 

“That is not necessary. If you leave the 
door on the latch I shall let myself out, and I 
have a latch-key with m.e. I have a little 
business to transact now, but will be back 
again. I shall desire a cab to call for me when 
I am ready. Go to bed, Thomas. I can man- 
age for myself.” 

The man nodded, and the nurse left the 
house. She hailed a cab, and drove straight 
to her own rooms in Goodge Street. She 
made certain preparations there, and then left 
the house. The same cabby brought her back 
to Ashley Mansions. 


86 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


“ I shall want you to wait,” she said to the 
man. “ 1 shall be leaving very soon.” 

She had been absent nearly an hour, and 
it was now close on twelve o’clock. When 
Nurse Ives came in again the house was quiet ; 
Barbara, worn out, had retired to her own 
room. The servants, only too glad of the 
early hours after the late excitement, had re- 
tired to theirs. Nurse Hester sat with the 
sick woman. Mrs. Pelham was very restless. 
Sleep would not visit her. She insisted on 
holding Nurse Hester’s hand, and the nurse 
could not leave her for a moment. Nurse 
Ives knew exactly what was likely to take place, 
and had made her plans accordingly. At mid- 
night she lifted the boy from the bed, and 
opening the wicker trunk, laid him in it. He 
was a little fellow and very slender ; the trunk 
was long, and the boy fitted in comfortably. 

Having done this, Nurse Ives stole down- 
stairs on tiptoe and motioned the cabby to 
leave his horse and enter the house. 

I want you to move a trunk down,” she 
said. “Will your horse remain quiet while 
you are away ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ; there’s no fear of him,” answered 
the man. “You haven’t much luggage, have 
you ? ” 

“ No, only the one trunk, and it is not 
specially heavy. Go up-stairs as quietly as 
you can.’' 


The Long Trunk. 87 

The man did so. He lifted the trunk on his 
shoulder. 

“ It’s a queer shape,” he said to the woman. 

“ It’s a very convenient shape,” she answered. 
“Skirts of dresses do not get creased in a trunk 
like that. I had it made on purpose.” 

The man hoisted it on his shoulder and 
went quietly down-stairs. 

He put the trunk on the cab, and Nurse Ives 
shut the door of 12 Ashley Mansions behind 
her. At about half-past twelve she reached 
her own place. The cabby carried the trunk 
up-stairs for her and laid it inside the room. 
The lamp was lit here, and the gas stove was 
burning brightly. On the table in the center 
of the room was something covered with a 
white cloth. Nurse Ives paid the cabman, 
who withdrew. 

The moment he did so she lifted the cover- 
ing from the instrument on the table and pro- 
ceeded to open the trunk. 


88 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE DEAD RESTORED. 

Nurse Ives lifted the little body out of the 
trunk and laid it down on a pile of warm 
blankets in front of the hot fire ; then, taking 
the electric battery from the table, she pro- 
ceeded to put it in order and applied it to the 
side of the child’s neck and over the region of 
his heart, just as she had done before in Ash- 
ley Mansions. On this occasion, however, the 
electric current was far more powerful. 

The nurse watched the child with keen 
anxiety as she used this means for his resto- 
ration. At first the strong electric current 
seemed to have tittle or no effect ; then gradu- 
ally the color, which had been restored to the 
child’s cheeks when the amyl nitrite had been 
applied, deepened and the eyelids quivered 
very slightly. At last the eyes were opened 
just for an instant and then closed again. 
When this happened the nurse ceased to apply 
the current, and, rushing to the table, prepared 
a hypodermic injection of ether. This was 
quickly injected into the child’s arm. The 


The Dead Restored. 


89 

effect was instantaneous — a gentle glow per- 
vaded the whole of the hitherto icy frame and 
the little body quivered from head to foot. 

Once again the boy’s eyes were opened, and 
now it was quite apparent that he was breath- 
ing, although very faintly. Nurse Ives began 
gently to rub the limbs with her warm hands. 
Stooping low, she breathed with her own hot 
breath into the child’s mouth. His breath was 
now coming calmly and steadily. 

She once again applied the current, and the 
boy began to stir. Then she lifted the arms 
above the head and put them down again, per- 
forming by this means artificial respiration. 
The child now looked steadily at her. There 
was a dreamy, unconscious film over the 
bright, dark eyes ; but he was awake, alive — 
no longer a corpse. He was a living boy once 
again. 

Nurse Ives took the little wrist between her 
finger and thumb— the pulse was working, but 
somewhat shakily. 

She did not dare to lift the boy yet into a 
sitting position. She allowed the full influence 
of the fire to pervade his icy frame, and oc- 
casionally she still applied a gentle current of 
electricity. 

After a time she put away the instrument, 
and, kneeling by the child, put into his mouth 
a few drops of very strong soup mixed with 
brandy. He swallowed a little. She felt the 


90 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

pulse again. It was steady, stronger, less in- 
termittent. 

“Where am I ?” asked little Piers. 

“ With me, my dear little man, quite safe. 
Don't talk now ; you are weak. I am going 
to give you something nice to eat.” 

“ I am — awfully hungry,” said the child. 

The nurse knelt low by his side. She fed 
him by drops. She had made up her mind 
that the child should live. Her exertions were 
rewarded. She thought of nothing else at the 
moment, her soul was filled with pure glad- 
ness. She even " forgot Tarbot. 

“ They all think that he is screwed up in his 
little cofiin— that he is dead, dead, dead ! ” she 
said to herself, “ and yet I have him here alive 
and well. It was a terrible experiment, but it 
has succeeded. I have saved him from the 
hands of a wicked man.” She clasped her 
hands, fell on her knees, and covered her face. 
“And yet I love that man,” she cried with a 
groan. 

She trembled all over. The boy called her, 
however, and she had to exercise self-control. 
Hour by hour he was now getting rapidly 
better. Not only did he recover full con- 
sciousness, but he seemed stronger than before 
the long trance to which he had been sub- 
jected. 

“ It is a wonderful case,” thought Nurse Ives. 
“ More wonderful even than that case which 


The Dead Restored. 


91 


excited so much remark in Paris when I was 
with Dr. Weismann. I am the cleverest 
woman in England—I have brought the dead 
back to life. You will do now, my little man,” 
she said aloud, looking at the child as she 
spoke. 

The boy was gazing at her intently. He 
was sitting up ; he looked quite strong, and 
there was color in his cheeks. 

“Where am I?” he asked. He gazed 
anxiously round the queer little room. 

“You are on a visit to me, I am taking care 
of you. I am your nurse. Don’t you love 
me ? ” 

“ But you aren’t my real nurse,” said little 
Piers. “ What folly you talk ! You’re only 
the woman who came in to nurse me when I 
was taken ill. Where am I ? I want to go 
home to mother and to Dick. Where is Dick ? 

He was the last person I saw before ” The 

child began to shudder and tremble. 

“ What is it, little one ? Don’t look like 
that. What is troubling you ? ” 

“Take me in your arms, nurse,” said the 
child. 

The nurse seated herself on a low rocking 
chair and lifted the boy into her embrace. 
His face was deadly white again, the faint trace 
of color having left it, but his eyes, large and 
beautiful, were fixed with wonder in them on 
the nurse. 


92 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“Are you/’ he said, speaking very slowly 
and with pauses between, “ the same woman — 
who— used to nurse me when — I was — very ill 
— at home ? ” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“ You had red hair?” 

“ Yes, dear.” 

“ I didn’t like you then.” 

“ No, dear.” 

“ But ”— he glanced up at her — “your hair 
isn’t red now : it's gold, and I like you” 

“ Lay your head on my breast, little man. 
I am so glad you like me. I like you, too.” 

The child’s dark head fell upon the woman’s 
breast, and a moment afterwards he sank into 
a gentle sleep. 

“ He’ll do, he’ll live,” she muttered. “ Luke 
Tarbot, what a sell for you ! He’ll live, he’ll 
live ! Thank God ! Yes, I can manage every- 
thing my own way now. Luke thought him- 
self cleverer than 1 . I am playing my own 
game, and this ” — she glanced at the child — 
“ this little fellow is the ace of trumps.” 

Nurse Ives presently lifted the boy and 
carried him into the next room. She un- 
dressed him and lay down beside him, taking 
him in her arms. The child slept during all 
the night, but the woman lay awake. She was 
too excited to sleep — she was a desperate 
woman, and she was playing a desperate game. 

In the morning the child awoke, looking 


The Dead Restored. 


93 

much better. He was now lively and full of 
questions, anxious to go home, talking fre- 
quently about his mother, about Barbara and 
Dick. 

“Why are you keeping me here ?” he said 
to Nurse Clara, but though he asked the ques- 
tion he was not in the least alarmed. He was 
only seven years old : a precocious boy of his 
age ; but at seven our faith is large, and we 
believe, as a rule, what is said to us. 

During the following day Nurse Ives did 
not dare to leave him. While she watched 
him, and played with him, and chatted and 
got him to tell her his innocent thoughts, she 
was turning over a weighty problem in her mind. 
It would, she felt certain, be madness to con- 
fide her secret to another, and yet she knew 
that if she married Tarbot, as she meant to do 
almost immediately, she must get some one to 
help her in the care of the boy. 

Early in the evening Nurse Ives took the 
child in her arms and rocked him off to sleep. 
He was wide awake when she began and 
resisted her efforts. 

“ Don’t stare at me,” he said, beginning to 
shudder. “ I don’t like it.” 

She took no notice. She did not mean to 
mesmerize him again after to-night, but to- 
night she must do it. It was all important 
that he should remain absolutely quiet during 
Tarbot’s visit. She fixed her eyes on his face. 


94 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

Soon his bright dark eyes looked steadily into 
hers, and a curious look came into them. He 
closed them in a few moments, repose settled 
down over each feature, his breath came softly 
and gently. She carried him then into her 
little bedroom, put him in the bed which she 
had previously warmed, and, putting a night- 
light in a distant corner, softly shut the door. 
He was mesmerized into a tranquil sleep, not 
in the least resembling the cataleptic state in 
which he was the night before. Nurse Ives 
now felt certain that the child would sleep 
undisturbed during Tarbot’s visit. 


Diamond Cut Diamond.” 


95 


CHAPTER X. 

“ DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.” 

It was nine o’clock when Tarbot arrived. 
Nurse Ives was waiting for his step. If he 
lifted the little knocker on her door and 
sounded a rat-tat the child might awake. 
Accordingly, the nurse kept the door open. 
Once or twice she went out into the passage 
and looked over the banister. Tarbot’s steps 
would be distinctly heard upon the stone 
stairs, and it was necessary to bring him into 
the room as quietly as possible. He was a 
man who invariably kept his appointments to 
the minute. Nurse Ives was certain he would 
come about nine o’clock, and he verified her 
belief by arriving two minutes after the hour. 

“ Ha, nurse ! ” he said when he saw her. 
She had dressed herself for the occasion, and 
with great care. She had changed her nurse’s 
dress for one of blue velvet, of a deep rich 
tone of blue, the gift of a former patient. It 
suited the woman well, bringing out the best 
points in her face and figure. She wore 
ruffles of real lace round her throat and wrists ; 


g6 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

her hair she had managed to dress with skill, 
fluffing it out and making the most of it. Its 
redness now became a positive beauty. 

Nurse Ives knew the necessity of striking 
while the iron was hot, and of making in every 
respect as good an effect as possible. Having 
attended to her own person and made it as 
attractive as she could, she next turned her at- 
tention to the little room, which now appeared 
almost pretty. The gas stove burned brightly, 
the atmosphere was warm, but not too warm. 
On the center table was a lamp with a rose- 
colored shade. The disfiguring gas, which 
always tries the prettiest face, was not lit. 
The light round the table was rosy. Nurse 
Ives sat in this warm glow ; it softened her 
features, rendering them almost beautiful. 
She was very pale, but the rose light gave 
her just the right touch of color. The red 
mark on her forehead was hidden by the 
cunning way in which she had arranged her 
hair. 

At the first glance Tarbot scarcely knew 
her, but at the second he recognized her. In 
his heart of hearts he disliked her all the more 
for dressing up in velvet and trying to assume 
the manner and appearance of a fashionable 
woman. He knew well why she did it, and 
he .said to himself that he was paying a terribly 
heavy price for his revenge. He was begin- 
ning already to repent, but he was not a man 


“ Diamond Cut Diamond.” 97 

ever to turn back. He held out his hand to 
the nurse now, and entered the room with a 
cheery step. 

“ You did capitally,” he said. “ Capitally ! 
No one could have managed better.” 

To hear him speak, one might have sup- 
posed that he was congratulating the nurse on 
having brought a patient back from the bor- 
ders of the grave. She took his cue, and 
replied in much the same tone. 

“ Having pleased you,” she answered, “ I 
have nothing further to desire.” 

As she spoke she raised her light blue eyes 
to his face. She longed for him to kiss her. 
Unscrupulous as she was, for him she felt a 
passion which in itself was pure and strong 
and holy. She would have given up her life 
for him. If he had in any degree returned 
her love she would have been faithful to him, 
no matter whom else she destroyed. Provided 
he did not provoke her jealousy, she would 
in her way make him an excellent wife, but 
with such a woman as Clara Ives jealousy 
could make her as cruel as the grave. 

She motioned the doctor now to an easy 
chair and sat down at a little distance from 
him. 

“ Will you eat ? ” she asked. 

“ I have just dined.” 

“ Can I get you anything to drink ? ” 

“Nothing, thank you.” 

7 


98 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“Then I will shut the door. We have 
much to arrange, have we not ? ” 

“ Yes, nurse. We can talk over the progress 
of events and all that is likely to follow, but 
not to-night, nurse.” 

Clara Ives held up her hand. 

“ Why do you stop me ? What is the mat- 
ter ? ” said Tarbot. 

“ From this moment,” she replied, “ we drop 
that word nurse. It signifies servitude, and 
I’m a servant no longer.” 

“ We’re both servants to the noble cause of 
science,” said Tarbot with a light laugh. “ It’s 
no disgrace to be a servant, my good creature.” 

“ It is no disgrace,” answered Nurse Ives. 
She rose to her feet, then suddenly fell on her 
knees. She was close to Tarbot now, and, 
stretching out one of her hands, she clasped 
his. It had been lying in his lap, and he had 
not time to withdraw it. 

“ I long to be your servant,” she said, and 
she kissed the hand which she held. 

He laid the other for a moment on her head. 

“ I did not know you had such good hair,” 
he said. “It is thick and abundant. It suits 
you arranged like this.” 

“ It is not really thick, but I puffed it out 
by artificial means. I am glad you like it. I 
did the best for my appearance for your sake. 
I know I am not beautiful.” 

“ All the same, you look well in that dress,” 


“ Diamond Cut Diamond.” 99 

he answered. “ Dress can do much for 
you.” 

“ It shall do much for me, Luke.” 

He suppressed an involuntary shudder when 
she called him by his Christian name. 

“ It shall do much for me,” she repeated. 
“ You will never be ashamed of me when you 
see me at the head of your table.” 

He did not reply, but started restlessly from 
his chair and stood with his back to the gas 
stove. 

“ This room is hot,” he said. “ Do you 
mind opening the other door ? ” 

“No, I would rather leave it closed. I like 
to keep my bedroom cool. The air from the 
gas stove gets into the room and overheats 
it.” 

“ As you please. You must not keep me 
long now. Things have turned out exactly 
as we planned.” 

“ Yes,” said the woman. “ Yes.” 

“ You did what I required admirably — no 
one better. By the way, have you any of the 
hyoscine left ? ” 

The nurse’s face grew very white. 

“ A little. Why do you ask ? ” 

“ You had better give it to me — it is safer.” 

Nurse Ives rose and went into the other 
room. She soon returned with a small bottle 
which contained some white powder. Tarbot 
slipped the bottle into his pocket. 


100 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ Pelham is in the toils,’’ he said grimly. 
“ You are prepared to swear that he was alone 
in the room with the child when he took the 
last dose ? ” 

“ I am ; but need we enter into the subject 
now ? ” 

“No, no. You look worn out. Are your 
nerves troubling you, nurse ? ” 

“They are a little. I am overdone. I did 
not think I should find it so hard. I did it for 
your sake, remember. I have imperiled my 
soul for you.” 

A sneer crossed Tarbot’s lips. He did not 
reply at all to this statement. 

“When is the funeral to be?” asked the 
nurse. 

“ On Saturday.” 

The woman gave a shudder. 

“You are trembling. I must give you a 
tonic,” said Tarbot with some anxiety. 

“ I do not need any tonic. I shall be all 
right when the funeral has taken place— that 
is all. Where is the child to be buried?” 

“ In the family vault in Devonshire. There 
is a chapel attached to Pelham Towers, and a 
consecrated graveyard— the vault of the Pel- 
hams is there.” 

An involuntary smile crossed the woman’s 
face, and she turned her head aside. 

“Are you going to attend the funeral?” 
she asked. 


“ Diamond Cut Diamond/' loj 

“ Mrs. Pelham wishes it. I would do any- 
thing to please her— poor soul." 

Clara Ives smiled again. 

“What is the matter with you?" Tarbot 
continued. “ When I speak of the funeral of 
a child who has died in his babyhood, a child 
whose life meant much and \vhose mother is 
broken-hearted, it seems strange that you 
should smile." 

“ There are hidden nerves w^hich one can- 
not always control," said the nurse with an air 
of wisdom. 

“ Oh, come, Clara, you need not talk science 
to me." 

“Of course not. You know a great deal 
more than I do." 

“ And yet you are very well informed for a 
nurse." 

“ That is true. Remember, I was with Dr. 
Weismann in Paris for a year." 

“ He was a clever man, but a humbug." 

“ I don’t think so." 

“ We need not say anything more about it 
now," said Tarbot, rising. 

“ We need not," she answered. “ I know a 
little science, a smattering which comes in 
usefully on occasions. When I am your wife 
you will perhaps instruct me further." 

“ Are you eager that I should do so — to lift 
the curtain more, to study the awful, the ter- 
rible problem ? " 


102 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“Apart from your love, that is the one and 
only subject which fascinates me," replied 
Nurse Ives. 

“ Well, well, our tastes agree in this matter. 
You have quite made up your mind not to 
take another case ? " 

“ I have told you so." 

“ It seems a pity. I must be going now ; I 
will look in again in a few days." 

“ I shall not take another case, and you must 
not go away just yet.” 

“I must. I have a patient to see at ten 
o’clock.” 

“Your patient will have to wait." 

“ My dear good Clara ! I, a doctor, keep a 
patient waiting ! You forget yourself." 

“ No ; but you, Luke, forget yourself.” 

“ I fail to understand you.” 

“ You shall not leave here,” said the woman. 
She drew herself up — she was tall and slender. 
“You shall not leave here until our wedding 
day is fixed. Luke, what day will you marry 
me ?” 

He gave a shudder, and this time it was 
perceptible. An ugly expression crossed the 
woman’s face, and the red scar became visible 
even under the cloudy mass of hair. She 
raised her hand impatiently and pushed back 
the hair. As a nurse, she always wore it 
smooth and plain, and in its fluffy condition it 
worried her. 


Diamond Cut Diamond.” 103 

“ I keep you to your bargain,” she said. 
“ You promised to marry me if I did what you 
required.” 

“And, of course, I keep my word,” he an- 
swered. “ But why speak of marriage just 
now ? We can surely wait for a short time.” 

“ We cannot.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ I mean that you are to marry me.” 

“ Did I not say I would ? ” 

“ Oh, Luke, if you could but love me ! 
Luke, bad as I am, I would make you a good 
wife. Bad as I am, I could be good to you. 
After all, are we not both outcasts ? Are we 
not both separated from the rest of the world 
by the crime we have committed ? ” 

“ Hush ! ” said the man. His face looked 
ghastly. “ How dare you talk like that ? 
There are subjects which even between man 
and wife ” — his lips trembled — “ must not be 
alluded to. I did what I did because — 
Heavens ! we cannot talk of it ! ” 

“We need not talk of it, but you know what 
we both have done.” 

“ I won’t listen to you. What is it you want ? 
There are things which upset the strongest 
man’s nerves. You, Clara, are coarse. You 
are not a lady ; you have been trained in 
hardness ; you have no highly-strung nerves. 
It is terrible to be highly educated. It brings 
torture.” 


104 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ Aye, I can guess that. You had best 
make me your wife. I can keep those dis- 
ordered nerves of yours in check. When the 
time comes, I shall know how to soothe you.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ I may not tell you now. After you have 
married me you will not regret it. When is 
the wedding day to be ? ” 

“ When do you wish for it ? ” 

“ First, Luke, answer me one question. 
Have you the very slightest love for me ? ” 

“ Do you want me to tell the truth or a lie ? ” 

“ Oh, what folly this is ! ” cried the woman. 
“ A lie ! I should soon detect it. The truth, 
man, and nothing else.” 

“ Then this is the truth — I do not love 
you.” 

“ I thought as much. Luke, when is our 
wedding to be ?” 

“You make a proposal, Clara, and I will see 
if I can yield to it.” 

“ We can be marriedby special license,” she 
said. 

“Special license! Why throw away fifty 
pounds ? ” 

“We can be married by special license,” 
repeated Nurse Ives ; “ so the wedding can 
take place this da 3 ^ week.” 

“ So soon 1 ” said Tarbot. “ Impossible 1 ” 

“ It is not impossible, Luke. Do you con- 
sent ? ” 


“ Diamond Cut Diamond.” 105 

“ I must if you wish it ; but it must be quite 
private.” 

“We will go to church on the morning of 
this day week, and afterwards we can go for a 
fortnight’s honeymoon.” 

“ It would be very awkward my leaving 
London just now.” 

“ Awkward or not it must be done. You 
can get a locum tenens,” 

“ Very well ; if I must, I must. I did not 
know you would be so exacting.” 

“ We are to be married, then, this day week 
by special license, and ” 

“ Privately married, remember, Clara. There 
is to be no fuss. A busy doctor cannot afford 
the time. We marry, and I take you away 
for a fortnight.” The man’s lips trembled. He 
turned aside. He was paying a price which 
nearly maddened him. 

Nurse Ives kept on gazing at him fixedly. 

“ I have more to say,” she continued. 

“ What is it ? ” 

“ At the end of the fortnight you bring me 
to your house in Harley Street, you introduce 
me to your friends as Mrs. Tarbot, your lawful 
wife, you take me into society, and you publish 
our marriage on the day it takes place in every 
daily newspaper in London.” 

“ Come, Clara, this is too much.” 

“ You promise all this or I ” 

“You what ?” 


io6 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ I deal you a blow.” 

Tarbot was standing up. He staggered 
slightly. 

“What kind of blow? You are not going 
to turn traitor ? ” 

“ I won t say what I am going to do. I did 
what you wished. It is your turn now to fulfil 
your side of the bargain. If you refuse you 
will repent it. If you accede to my wishes I 
will help you to carry out your* revenge. Re- 
member, at present you have only committed 
the crime, but the pleasure which is to follow 
has not begun. Are you going to deny your- 
self that for which you blackened your soul ? ” 

“ I am not.” 

“ Remember, I shall make you an excellent 
wife. I shall stimulate you to greater exer- 
tions in your career. There will be no nerves 
about me, no stepping back because of con- 
science, or any such humbug. When your 
foe falls, I shall for your sake rejoice. I know 
the -woman whom you mean to hurt and crush 
and dishonor. She is the woman whom you 
now love.” 

“ Whom now I hate. Don't dare to mention 
her name.” 

“ I will mention it, and now. Her name is 
Barbara Evershed. I understand exactly what 
your revenge means. It is the most diabolrcal 
scheme ever planned by human brain, but I 
will help you to carry it out.” 


“ Diamond Cut Diamond.” 107 

“Clara, you are a terrible and extraordinary 
woman.” 

“ You have not yet half gauged my wicked- 
ness or my powers. Do not make me your 
enemy. You will only repent that deed once, 
but that will be forever. Make me your wife, 
and you shall have a splendid time. Is it to 
be or not to be ? ” 

“ I said I would marry you, but some of 
your terms are preposterous.” 

“They must all be carried out. Marry me 
iu a week from now. After the marriage we 
go away for a fortnight’s — bliss.” She paused 
here and looked him full in the face. He made 
an effort to return her gaze, but his eyes, bold 
and inscrutable as they were, fell before hers. 

“ It is diamond cut diamond,” she said slow- 
ly. “ You have your match in me.” 

“ I believe I have.” 

“ You accede to my terms ? ” 

“ I do because I must.” 

“ That’s right. Get your house in order, or 
stay — do nothing special. I should like to re- 
furnish when I take possession. You can go 
now, Luke ; you need not come here again 
unless you wish to. The less you are seen 
here now, the better for our future safety. I 
will meet you at whatever church you appoint 
on the morning of this day week. If you are 
true to me, I will be true to you ; if not — I have 
you in my power.” 


io8 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


CHAPTER XI. 

A TELEGRAM. 

Having seen Tarbot out, Nurse Ives returned 
to her own room and sat down in front of the 
gas stove. It was a warm night — warm and 
damp. There was a thick fog outside, one of 
those fogs which are the first forerunners of 
autumn. But, warm as it was, the woman felt 
cold. She held out her two thin hands to the 
warmth of the stove, then, suppressing a shud- 
der, she got up and went on tiptoe into the room 
where little Piers Pelham was lying fast asleep. 
He slept soundly, and he looked beautiful — 
there was an angelic smile on his small face. 

A queer, new expression came over the 
woman’s face. 

“Why am I stirred when I look at him ?” 
she said to herself. “ Why does my heart beat 
so fast ? If he were my very own I do not 
think I could love him better.” 

Then she returned to her seat in front of the 
stove. She was a temperate woman, and al- 
though she felt faint and overcome she would 
not have recourse to stimulants. She prepared 


A Telegram. - 109 

herself a cup of cocoa. It _was hot, and it 
comforted her. It took away a curious craving 
which she could not quite account for. 

“ I am hungry, and yet not hungry,” she 
said to herself. “ I feel terribly excited. I 
have gone through much, and it is wearing me 
out. This day week I shall be his wife — I shall 
be Mrs. Tarbot. There is a good deal to be 
done in the time. I must get suitable clothes. 
Above all things, I must supply myself with 
plenty of underlinen, fine and beautifully em- 
broidered. I shall get a lot of handkerchiefs, 
too, of the finest lawn, and every one of them 
shall be embroidered, not marked in ink, but 
embroidered in satin stitch with the name, 
‘ Clara Tarbot.’ ” 

“To think of my name being Clara Tarbot ! 
I the wife of Luke Tarbot, the great brain 
specialist of Harley Street ! Oh, I do well, I 
do very well for myself. I won’t think about 
any future— I do well for myself for the present. 
The boy’s life is safe, and I shall get my heart’s 
desire. This day week he and I will be mar- 
ried. 

“ I wonder where we shall go for our honey- 
moon. Imagine my having him for a fortnight 
all to myself ! How will he bear it ? If he 
had any love to give me he might like it, for I 
have power, strength. I am in no sense a 
nonentity. I can flatter, I can please, I can 
excite him, and I can also soothe him. I vow 


no 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 

that he shall come under my influence. I 
know a way by which I believe I can gain a 
wonderful power over him. I will use it. 

“ That girl shall be wholly forgotten. Plain 
as I am, I am the woman to whom he will 
come in his hour of trial. Yes, there is no 
doubt I have a great future before me, but in 
the meantime there is much to be done. A 
few pretty dresses, or, rather, handsome dresses, 
have to be bought, and, above all things else, 
the boy has to be cared for. Now, what am I 
to do with the child ? ” 

This problem occupied Nurse Ives during 
the remainder of the night. She had been up 
for several nights now, but she did not feel 
sleepy. She thought and thought, and towards 
morning it seemed to her that she had solved 
the difficulty. 

“ It is the best thing I can do, and I must 
do it,” she thought. “What is a mother for 
but to help a daughter ? Yes, I will do it.” 

Having made up her mind, she went and lay 
down beside the boy. The soft breath of the 
child, who was now fast returning to his nor- 
mal state of health, mingled with hers, and she 
clasped the dimpled fingers of the little one. 
As she did this, once again that queer inde- 
scribable drawing, which she did not recognize 
as love, began to awaken in her heart. She 
crept close to the lad and took comfort in his 
presence, 


A Telegram. iii 

I am so glad I saved him,” she said to her- 
self. “ When all’s said and done, I am not 
such a villain as Luke — Luke, the man I love, 
the man I would die for.” 

At last she fell asleep, wearied out, and awoke 
about ten o’clock. The boy was sitting up in 
bed. He was hungry, and there was a slight- 
ly fretful expression on his face. 

“ Why do you sleep so long ? ” he said in a 
peremptory tone. “ Fm not accustomed to 
being kept waiting for my breakfast. Why 
didn’t you wake up in proper time ? Fmvery 
hungry. I want my breakfast.” 

“ Fll get it for you at once, little one,” said 
the nurse. “ Stay where you are ; Fll dress 
you afterwards. Fll bring you your breakfast 
in a few minutes.” 

Nurse Ives rose hastily, and without even 
troubling to smooth her hair or change her blue 
velvet dress, went into the other room. Hav- 
ing set the kettle on to boil, she came back. 

“How smart you are, nurse!” said the 
child. 

“ Do you like my pretty frock ? ” she asked. 

“ I like it awfully. You won’t wear that 
ugly nurse’s dress any more, will you ? ” 

“ I don’t intend to. Fm not going to be a 
nurse any more, little Piers.” 

“ Aren’t you ?” 

“ No, my love.” 

“ Do get me my breakfast— Fm so hungry.” 


112 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ It’s coming, dear. I have set the egg on 
to boil.” 

Nurse Ives returned to the other room and 
prepared a dainty meal. She brought it to 
the boy on a tray and sat by his side while he 
ate it. 

“ You look much better,” she said. 

“ I’m quite well,” he answered with a laugh. 
“ It’s wonderful how much nicer I feel in this 
queer, poky little scrap of a room. I was 
awfully ill when I was at home. I never felt 
anything like it. Nurse, did you ever seem 
to be going through the floor ? ” 

“No, dear, I can’t say that I have.” 

“ I have felt it, and it’s awful. Thb feeling 
began to come just when you arrived. I used 
to have it about once a day at first, but lately 
it seemed to be always coming. I was always 
going down, and down, and down, and then 
jumping up again, and then at last ” 

“Yes, dear ; tell me what you felt.” 

“I heard Barbara’s voice, and you wouldn’t 
let her in. I called out to her, but you 
wouldn’t let her come. Then I cried, for I 
love her better than any other woman in the 
world, except mother, but you sent her away ; 
and I felt so dreadful. I went down, and down, 
and down ever so far, and it seemed to me that 
Barbara would save me, but you wouldn’t allow 
her to come in. You were awfully cruel then. 
You didn’t wear your pretty blue velvet dress 


A Telegram. 113 

then. Oh, you were terribly cruel. I thought 
about your cruelty, and the feeling of going 
down got worse and worse. I thought at last 
that I must be sinking right through the earth, 
and that perhaps Fd come out on the other 
side, where it’s day, you know, when it's night 
with us. Oh, it was awful ! ” 

“ Don’t talk of it any more. Piers — it is over.” 

“ But I like to tell you. Dick came into the 
room — dear Dick, I was glad to see him. You 
know, nurse, he is very strong, and I like to 
have him with me. He put his big strong 
arms round me, and then I didn’t sink any 
more, at least, not at first, but at last even his 
arms didn’t seem strong enough, and I began 
sinking away from them, and then you sent 
him out. Oh, why did you send him away ? 
You could have gone for the medicine your- 
self. I called after him, but my voice was too 
weak. Then Dick came back, and you gave 
him the medicine, and he brought it to me. 
I was glad to take it from Dick’s hands. I 
didn’t mind what I did for him, for he was 
always my very greatest friend. It’s nice for 
a boy like me to have a man friend, and then, 
of course, he’s my own cousin. If I had died 
that time, he’d have been Sir Richard Pelham. 
I thought I was going to die after I took that 
medicine. I sank down faster and faster, and 
I looked up as I sank and I saw Dick far above 
me, and then I remembered no more.” 

8 


1 14 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ You were very ill, child,” said the nurse. 

“ Did you think I was going to die ? ” 

“ I thought you were bad.” 

“ But did you think I was going to die ? I 
remember so well the look on Dick’s face — all 
white as if he were terrified — that was the very 
last thing I saw before I went right down into 
the earth. I didn’t see you at all— only Dick. 
Did you suppose that I was dying?” 

“ No, Piers. I thought you would get bet- 
ter presently.” 

“ Do you think Dick was frightened? ” 

“ Perhaps. But we will not talk of that any 
more.” 

“ Nurse, will you take me back home to- 
^ay ? I want to see mother, and Barbara, and 
Dick.” 

“ Not to-day. Piers. You are very much 
better since you have come to me, and it is 
part of your cure to live with me for a little. 
If I wear my pretty blue velvet dress and tell 
you fairy tales and give you nice things to eat, 
you won’t mind staying with me for a time, 
will you ? ” 

No ; for I quite love you. You are so 
changed. But when may I see Dick and 
Barbara again ? ” 

“ I will tell you that by and by. If you are 
patient, you will see them all the sooner.” 

The boy lay back on his pillow with a 
sigh. 


A Telegram. 115 

“ May I get up ? ” he asked after a moment. 
“ I feel quite well.” 

“ I will dress you myself, dear, and you shall 
come and sit with me in my sitting-room. 
But first I must go out.” 

“ Where to ?” 

“ To the post-ofBee to send a telegram.” 

“To Dick?” 

“ No, dear ; not to Dick, but somebody 
else.” 

“ Who?” asked the child. 

“ To niy mother.” 

“ Have you a mother ? You look very old 
to have a mother.” 

“ I have a mother, my dear, but she lives far 
away from here, in Cornwall.” 

“ Cornwall — that’s in the very, very south of 
England, not far from Devonshire, where one 
of my places is. You know, nurse, I am an 
awfully rich boy, don’t you ? ” 

“Yes, little Piers.” 

“Why don’t you call me Sir Piers ? It 
doesn’t seem respectful to call me little Piers.” 

“ But I’d rather call you little Piers. I want 
you to forget the other name.” 

“ Forget that I am Sir Piers Pelham ! What 
do you mean ? ” 

“ It is part of your cure. I hope to have 
you quite well before long, and when you are 
quite well and quite strong you shall be Sir 
Piers Pelham again, and you shall go back to 


ii6 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

Dick and Barbara and to your mother and 
Dr. Tarbot.” 

“Dr. Tarbot,” said the boy, his face flush- 
ing. “ I hate him.” 

“That is unkind. He is your good doctor.” 

“He’s not good, and I hate him. Well, go 
and send off your telegram to your mother if 
you must, only it does seem queer that you 
should have one. What do you want to say 
to her ? ” 

“ I want her to come here on a visit.” 

“Oh, I shall like that. It will be fun to see 
you greeting your mother. Will you kiss her 
much and will you obey her ? Of course, you 
ought to obey your mother — it’s the fifth com- 
mandment. Well, go, nurse, now, and be 
quick back.” 

A few moments afterwards Nurse Ives went 
to the nearest telegraph office and sent off a 
message. The result of her message was that 
early on the following morning a little woman, 
with a wrinkled face and hands slightly dis- 
torted with rheumatism, arrived on the scene. 

“Well, now, Clara, what does this mean ?” 
said the woman, “ sending for me in such a 
precious hurry. What’s up, my girl ? You 
look excited.” 

“ I sent for you, mother, because I want you 
to take care of a little boy for me.” 

“A little boy! Good gracious! Not a 
patient ?” 


A Telegram. 117 

“Yes, mother, a patient. I want you to 
look after him— that’s why I sent for you. I’ll 
tell you all particulars when you’ve had some 
breakfast.” 


ii8 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


CHAPTER XII 

A CRAFTY OLD LADY. 

Mrs. Ives was like and yet tinlike her 
daughter. She had the same sandy com- 
plexion, her face was slightly freckled and her 
lips very thin ; she had shrewd, kindly eyes, 
however, and a brisk, active manner. She 
was about sixty years of age. Clara bustled 
about now to make her mother comfortable. 

“ You sit just here,” she said, pushing the 
old lady into the only arm-chair which the little 
room contained. “ After you have had a good 
breakfast you shall lie down for a bit. There’s 
a great deal to be done, and I have much to 
tell you.” 

“Well, tell it and be quick, Clara. You 
always were a queer one, and you look changed 
— you’ve got so smart. Why are you wearing 
that pretty dress ? I thought you always wore 
your nurse’s livery.” 

“ I am not going to be a nurse any more, 
mother.” 

“A mercy me ! ’• said the old lady, throwing 


A Crafty Old Lady. 119 

up her hands. “ And after all the expense of 
having you eddicated, and you one of the 
Nightingale nurses at St. Thomas’s Hospital 
and all. They think a sight of you in the old 
place. Wherever I go the folks is always ask- 
ing me how Sister Clara is getting on, and I tell 
you Fm just as proud as Punch of you. I say 
you nurse all the dukes in London, and that 
you’re took up wonderful by the Royal Family. 
They believes it — some folks will believe any- 
thing. And now you’re going to give it all 
up. You’re not going into domestic service 
again, are you ? ” 

“ After a fashion, I am, mother ; but there, 
don’t talk so much. Drink your warm coffee. 
I’ll have a nice rasher of bacon and an egg 
done for you in a jiffy.” 

“ I can’t abear them cooking eggs,” said the 
old lady. “ I’ll have a bit of bacon if you do it 
crisp and tasty. I traveled up without any 
fret or worry, and slept the whole of the way. 
What a queer, extravagant thing you was to 
say I might come first class. Not me ! I 
traveled third. I’d like to see myself first. 
It wouldn’t seem respectful to the quality.” 

Clara did not reply. She knew her mother’s 
ways. 

“ There’s no necessity to be so very close 
about money now,” she said, after a long 
pause. “ I’m doing well and I want you to 
have all comforts.” 


120 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“You're doing well when you give up your 
profession ? It looks like it. Are you gwine 
to be married ? " 

“ Well, that’s about it, mother. You’ve hit 
the nail on the head now. I am. 

“Tell me all about it, Clara,” said the old 
lady. “ I love to hear a right good rattling 
love story. Is it to the grocer, or the fish- 
monger, or the baker ? I always said you’d 
do well in a shop. You’re the sort to draw 
customers, though you are plain, to be sure. 
Your freckles seem to have spread. Can’t you 
get a lotion to take ’em off ? They’re not at 
all becoming.” 

“Dear me, mother, don't mind about my 
freckles now. I was born with them, and they 
must stay on my face ! ” 

“ That they must, Clara, and it’s wrong for 
me to grumble, but I did fret about them 
freckles when you was a little tot. Dear heart ! 
I used to dream of ’em at nights. I used to 
say, they’ll come between her and matrimony — 
such a plague of ’em as you had— but now it 
seems I was all wrong. Maybe freckles have 
come into fashion. Who’s the lucky man, 
Clara ? ” 

“ He’s not the baker, nor the grocer, nor 
the fishmonger,” said Clara quietly. “Here, 
mother, eat your bacon. I’ll tell you every- 
thing afterwards.” 

While Mrs. Ives enjoyed her breakfast, the 


I2I 


A Crafty Old Lady. 

nurse withdrew into the inner room and began 
to dress little Piers. 

“ I’m ever so well,” said the boy. “ I’m 
going out for a bit to-day.” 

“ But, my dear, it’s raining.” 

“That doesn’t matter. You can send for 
my carriage. I always drive in the brougham 
on wet days. Nurse, who was that person 
you were talking to ? I heard a voice keep 
chattering and chattering. Whose was 
it ? ” 

“ My mother’s, dear.” 

“ Has your mother come ? Oh, I am glad. 
I want to see her.” 

“ You shall see her when you are dressed. 
Piers.” 

“ But Pm very sorry I wasn’t in the room 
when she arrived. I wanted to see you kiss 
her. Are you beginning to obey her already ? 
You know it’s the fifth commandment — chil- 
dren ought to obey their parents.” 

“ Oh, it’s all right, dear. Don’t talk quite so 
much, Piers. Sit still while I dress you.” 

“ I feel so well and jolly,” said the child. 
“When may I go home?” 

“ Not for a bit yet. You would be as bad 
as ever if you did— you’d have that sinking feel- 
ing you spoke to me about.” 

The child shuddered and began to tremble 
visibly. 

“ You’re not going back at present, darling. 


122 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

You don’t mind staying in this cosy little house 
with me, do you ?” 

“ It’s like a doll’s house,” said the child ; 
“ and your mother must be the head doll. 
What fun ! I’m one of the little ones and 
you’re another doll.” 

“ Now, come here. Piers, and stand by me, 
and let me say something. I believe you are 
a brave boy and that you wouldn’t tell a lie ? ” 

“ Of course I wouldn’t. I’m quite an im- 
portant person, you know. Do you think great 
men such as I shall be tell lies ? ” 

“ I don’t believe you could tell a lie, Piers. 
Now, I want you to promise me something ; 
I am sure when you promise you will keep your 
word. I don’t want my mother to know that 
you are Sir Piers Pelham.” 

“ Why ? ” 

“ I cannot tell you why. Sometime she may 
know, but not yet. All you have to say is that 
you are Piers, little Piers, my patient. You 
are not to tell her what your surname is, nor 
anything about the grand house you used to 
live in, nor about your mother, nor Dick, nor 
Barbara. Just say you are my little patient and 
that you love me — don’t say anything else.” 

“ Must I really promise ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ It seems such an awful lotto promise, and 
I am afraid. You know, I am not old and I 
might forget. It’s difficult to remember that 


A Crafty Old Lady. 123 

you’re not to talk of the people you love. Why 
must I do it ? ” 

“ Well, Piers, I thought it would be fun, but 
you need not if you dislike it. I cannot take 
you to my mother if you do not, that’s all. I’ll 
have to send her back to Cornwall. She’s a 
very amusing old lady, and you’d like her.” 

“ Oh, I’ll promise then, ’ said the child. 

“ Kiss me. Piers, on each cheek, and then 
make me the promise very solemnly.” 

“ If it’s going to be solemn I’d better kneel 
down and pray to God to help me to keep it,” 
said the boy. 

“You can do that by-and-by when you say 
your prayers, but not now. Kiss me and 
promise.” 

“ I promise,” said the child. 

“ That’s my brave little lad. Now I will take 
you and show you to my mother.” 

As Clara spoke she opened the door which 
divided the bedroom from the little sitting- 
room and brought Sir Piers into the sitting- 
room. The child came forward with his usual 
manly grace. He flung back his handsome 
little head and stared into the eyes of the old 
lady. 

“ My word ! what a fine little fellow ! ” she 
cried. “ Come and kiss me, my little lad.” 

The boy held up his coral lips. 

“I like you,” he said softly. “Are you 
nurse’s mother ?” 


124 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ Yes, dear/’ 

The old lady made room for Piers on her 
lap. 

“What a very wrinkled face you have,” he 
said. 

“ No more wrinkles than I ought to have,” 
was the reply. “ It’s becoming to hav^ 
wrinkles when you’re turning a bit aged. It’s 
like the russet apple when it’s ripe — I’m ripe, 
and that’s why the wrinkles is there.” 

“ Ripe,” said little Piers. He touched the 
old cheek with his tiny finger. “ I like you,” 
he repeated after a pause. “ Pm glad I made 
that promise.” 

“What promise, little un ?” 

“ Oh, something to Nurse Clara, but I mustn’t 
tell you. If I told you it would be breaking 
my word. Nurse, come here. Pm going to 
be a good boy, and Pm going to love your mother. 
If I love her and if I keep my word for a whole 
week, may I go home ? ” 

“ Perhaps,” said Nurse Clara. 

Mrs. Ives fixed her shrewd eyes on her 
daughter. 

“ There’s something at the back of all this,” 
thought the old lady to herself. “ That boy is 
no ordinary patient. I’ll get to the bottom of 
it, or my name’s not Sarah Ives. IPs just like 
Clara, she was always one for mysteries.” 

“ It’s a fine day,” said Mrs. Ives, getting up 
as she spoke and going to the window. 


125 


A Crafty Old Lady. 

“ No, it isn’t ; it rains,” said little Piers. 

“ It did rain, but it’s fine now. Suppose I 
take you for a walk ? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” said the child, clapping his 
hands. 

“ But you mustn’t walk to-day,” said Nurse 
Clara. “ It’s part of the cure ; the doctor wishes 
him to stay indoors,” she continued, turning 
to her mother. 

Little Piers frowned. 

“I’m ever so much better, and the air would 
do me good,” he said. “ You might send for 
the ” 

Nurse Ives held up a warning finger. 

“ You are not to go out,” she said. “ Mother, 
you are much too tired after your long journey 
to think of such a thing. I am going to leave 
you both now for a time, as I have got several 
things to buy. You look well after the child 
while I’m out, mother ; you’ll be careful of 
him, won’t you ? ” 

“ Careful ! ” said Mrs. Ives, “ when I’ve had 
six of my own, and buried five of ’em. You’re 
the only one left, Clara, and your freckles was 
always a worry. I not understand how to look 
after a child ! I don’t know what you mean.” 

“ Of course, mother, you’re splendid with 
children. Well, I’ll be back in an hour or 
so.” 

Nurse Ives put on a smart hat— the hat was 
made of black lace — she covered her sandy 


126 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


locks and freckled face with a spotted veil, and, 
nodding to her mother and the child, went 
out. 

“ She do look smart — quite the lady,” said the 
old woman, glancing at Piers as she spoke. 

Piers nodded. 

“ She’s very handsome, and I love her,” he 
said. 

“ Well, now, child, it surprises me to hear 
you talk. I never would have said Clara was 
handsome, though she is my own darter, but 
there’s no accounting for tastes. How close 
this room is ! Now Fd like to go for a walk 
uncommon. Suppose you and me was to go 
out unbeknown to Clara ? ” 

“ Might we ? ” said little Piers, his face 
coloring. 

“ Might you ? And what’s to hinder you if 
I say you may ? We might go for a little stroll 
all by our two selves, mightn’t we ? ” 

“ Fd love it better than anything,” said little 
Piers. “ But perhaps Nurse ^Clara ” 

“ Nurse Clara needn’t know, you little silly. 
Go and fetch your cap and we’ll be off.” 

Little Piers looked puzzled for a moment ; 
then his face lit up and he ran eagerly into 
the bedroom. He soon came back. 

‘‘ I can’t find my cap,” he said. 

Mrs. Ives accompanied him into Clara’s 
bedroom. They searched high and low in vain. 

“ What a pity ! ” she said. “ And I thought 


A Crafty Old Lady. 127 

rd like a spell of the air. Well, you look here, 
little boy, we will go out presently when 
Clara comes in.” 

“ And I could show you the house where I 
used to live ; but oh, I forgot, I can’t — it would 
be telling my secret.” 

“So you have a secret, little un ?” 

“Haven’t I just— such a big one ! ” 

“ I wonder now, if I could guess it,” said 
Mrs. Ives in a thoughtful voice. 

Piers clapped his hands. 

“ What fun if you did,” he cried. “Nurse 
wouldn’t mind if you guessed it— that wouldn’t 
be me telling.” 

“ Of course it wouldn’t. Well, now, let me 
see ; you are high born ?” 

Piers nodded. “ Good, good,” he exclaimed. 

“And rich?” 

“ Good again,” said Piers. 

“ If I was to see that house wnere you lived 
I could tell a lot more. Showing me the house 
isn’t letting out the secret.” 

“ Isn’t it ? Perhaps not. I’d like to show 
you the house very much indeed.” 

“ But perhaps you have forgotten what part 
of London it’s in ?” 

“Not I — not I : it’s near Harley Street 
where that dreadful doctor lives — I hate that 
doctor, Mrs. Ives. Oh, I know quite well how 
to get there, and as you say, it wouldn’t be 
telling.” 


128 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

‘‘Of course it wouldn’t ; and it would be 
much nicer for you if I guessed your secret, 
for then we could talk it over together. I tell 
you what : let’s go out at once, without waiting 
for that cap of yours. We can buy a new one 
for sixpence at the first shop we come across.” 

They went. 


The Die Cast. 


129 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE DIE CAST. 

Everything turned out according to Nurse 
Ives’ wishes. In a week’s time she and Dr. 
Tarbot were married by special license at St. 
James’s, Fore Street. 

Tarbot made a sullen bridegroom. Even 
during the ceremony he showed a morose face. 
Clara, on the contrary, looked animated, eager, 
excitedly happy. 

The ceremony was over, the signatures signed, 
in the vestry, and the bride and bridegroom 
were congratulated by their witnesses. Tarbot 
put a couple of guineas into each of the verger’s 
palms. He also paid a handsome fee to the 
clergyman, and the bride and the bridegroom 
were off. Tarbot had asked Clara where she 
wished to spend her honeymoon, and she 
promptly answered Paris. 

“ I know Paris well, of course, but I could 
never see enough of it,” she said. “ I’d love 
to go there again.” 

Tarbot was quite agreeable. Her choice 
even pleased him. 

9 


130 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

They put up at a fashionable hotel, and Clara 
spent a busy time. She did not waste it in 
sight-seeing. When she was in Paris before 
she had never visited the Louvre, or Fontaine- 
bleau, or Versailles, nor did she go to them 
now. She preferred the shops ; she went to 
them often and with good effect. Her inten- 
tion was, if possible, to reconstruct herself. 
She had saved some money of her own, and she 
now spent it freely. It was necessary for her, 
as Tarbot’s wife, to make a good appearance. 
So she went from shop to shop choosing 
clothes, and choosing well. Her husband 
never accompanied her, and she was all the 
better pleased at this. She had a greater op- 
portunity of doing what she meant to do. 

Hour by hour and day by day the woman 
was changing. She shed her vulgarity as if it 
were a skin which was useless. She went to 
the best hairdresser to have her hair arranged. 
She was told that she had lovely hair — quite 
the fashionable tone. She got the most ex- 
pensive lotions to bring out its brilliancy. 
She bought additional hair at a fabulous price, 
to pile on her head to add to the richness of 
her locks, which, in color perfect, were in 
quantity a little scanty. She also purchased 
cosmetics, which she applied night and morn- 
ing to her freckled face. The cosmetics did 
nothing for the freckles, but she fancied they 
did. She bought the finest black lace, and 


The Die Cast. 


131 

many garments trimmed with jet, and soft 
sweeping robes, mostly black. And Tarbot 
found out by degrees that he was not ashamed 
to walk with Clara, and that people turned to 
look at her. 

“What is the matter with you?” he said 
one day. 

“Why do you ask? Don’t you like my 
dress ? 

“ I like it too well— I should not know you 
in it.” 

Clara smiled. Tarbot went on gazing at her 
critically. 

“ You have a good figure,” he said ; “ a very 
good figure. I had no idea of it when I mar- 
ried you. I did not know you were so tall, or 
that you had such a small waist. Your hips 
are well developed, too, and your shoulders 
are good — you are a finely proportioned 
woman. If you were not so thin you might 
even be handsome.” 

While he paid her these compliments she 
longed passionately for him to give her one 
affectionate glance ; but this he had never con- 
sidered in the bargain, and certainly did not 
intend to bestow. 

When Clara had purchased her wardrobe, 
finally buying an evening dress from Worth, 
who studied her good figure and peculiar face, 
and made her a robe which was afterwards 
talked about in more than one London draw- 


132 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

ing-room, she told her husband that it was 
time to return home. 

“ But the fortnight is not up yet,” he 
said. 

“ Never mind. You are anxious to get back 
to your patients. I don’t care a fig for fine 
scenery or picture galleries, or old palaces, or 
anything of that sort. I came to Paris to 
get my trousseau. I have got it, and now I 
wish to return to England.” 

“All right, Clara,” said Tarbot. “I am 
abundantly willing.” 

The pair crossed to Dover by the night boat 
that evening, and early on the following morn- 
ing arrived at Tarbot’s house in Harley Street. 
The servants expected them, and were up. 
The weather was getting chilly, and Clara was 
glad to see fires in the rooms and the whole 
place looking fresh and clean. She looked 
round with approbation, gave her orders to the 
footman in a haughty tone, which made him 
secretly incline to the belief that his master 
had married.a duchess in disguise, and then 
swept up-stairs to her own room. 

This room, by Tarbot’s orders, had been 
newly furnished. It was bare, cold, and cor- 
rect, but Clara was pleased with it. She liked 
the sense of space which it gave, and she 
though that the pale blue and white furniture 
would suit her complexion. 

“ By the way,” she said, turning to Tarbot, 


The Die Cast. 


133 

who followed her, “you intend to give me 
carte blanche to do what I like in the re-ar- 
ranging of the house ? ’’ 

“ Certainly,” he replied. “ I shall have no 
time to attend to the house. A great number 
of fresh patients have written for appointments. 
As soon as I have had breakfast I shall order 
the brougham and go round at once to attend 
to them.” 

“ Very well,” said Clara. “ That will suit 
me perfectly.” 

“ Are you not tired ? ” he said. “ You have 
been up all night. Wouldn't you like to lie 
down for a little ? ” 

“Tired ! ” she answered. “ I ! You forget 
what my old life was.” 

“True; but you are so changed— so trans- 
formed.” 

“ Luke ! ” said Clara. She was standing 
before a glass, removing her hat ; she was un- 
pinning it carefully. Those red locks, frizzled 
and curled, required careful manipulation. 
She smoothed her hair with her hands, and 
then, turning, faced her husband. He was 
leaving the room, but looked round at the sound 
of her voice. 

“Yes ? ” he asked. 

‘ Do you love me even a little ? ” she asked 
suddenly. 

He uttered a vexed exclamation and stared 
at her. 


134 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ What an inconvenient question, and at such 
a time !” he exclaimed. “I want to go out. I 
cannot talk of love now.” 

She ran up to him, slipped behind him, shut 
the door, and then stood facing him. 

“ Answer me,” she said. Her heart was 
beating hard. “ Everything in all the world 
depends upon your answer. Can you by any 
chance get to feel not sorry that you married 
me ? ” 

“ Not sorry ? ” he said. 

“ Yes ; can you ever get to feel glad ? ” 

“Glad ! ” he cried. 

“Yes, yes ! Speak, speak ! ” 

“ Glad that I married you ! ” he repeated. 

“Speak, Luke! Tell me the truth.” She 
clasped her hands tightly together. There 
was an imploring expression in her eyes, her 
lips were trembling. 

“ Glad that I tied myself to you 1 ” he con- 
tinued. “ Good Heavens I what are you made 
of ? Let me go.” He pushed her roughly 
aside, opened the door, slammed it after him, 
and ran down-stairs. 

Clara listened with a wild expression on her 
face until his retreating footsteps ceased to 
sound. Then she fell on her knees, clasped 
her hands before her face, and burst into a 
passion of weeping. 

“The die is cast,” she said at last when she 
rose to her feet. “I am his wife, and I love 


The Die Cast. 


135 

him, but I will oppose him through thick and 
thin now— he has himself to blame.” 

A few minutes afterwards, quite calm and 
cold and placid-looking, the new mistress of 
No. 250, Harley Street, swept down-stairs. She 
had already changed her traveling dress for 
one of black velvet. This dress had a long 
train. Round her neck she wore a scarf ar- 
tistically arranged. The scarf was of rich old 
Spanish lace. Her face, very pale, rose above 
its picturesque surroundings, looking haughty 
and well. The footman was decidedly im- 
pressed by her. The butler, however, knew 
better. 

“ She ain’t a lady — don’t tell me ! ” he said. 

“ Oh, she is,” cried the footman. “ Didn’t 
you notice her ’aughty hairs ? Yes, she’s a 
lady, and no mistake. Most probable she 
come to grief with her first, and took up Tarbot 
as better than nothing. She’s a marchioness 
at the least.” 

“ Marchioness you ! ” said the butler. 
“ Don’t talk folly.” 

Tarbot was waiting impatiently for his break- 
fast. Clara swept to the head of her table, sat 
down with what the footman was pleased to 
call a marchioness air, and poured out the 
coffee. The servants left the room, and th^ 
husband and wife were alone together. 

“I shall want a maid,” said Clara, raising 
her eyes to Tarbot’s face. 


136 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“A maid ! ” he exclaimed. “You ! What 
in the name of fortune for ? ” 

“ I, as much as another,” she answered. “ Do 
you suppose I can attend to my own clothes 
and the thousand and one things which a maid 
ought to do for a fine lady ? Whatever I was 
in the past, I am now your wife and a fine 
lady, and as such I must have a maid. I 
shall go to Mrs. Mount to-day and secure 
one.” 

“As you please,” replied Tarbot. “Now I 
have eaten enough, and must be ofi. Don’t 
expect me to lunch. After I have seen my 
patients I shall drive round to the hospital. 
To-morrow, of course, I shall be in to receive 
patients from ten to one as usual, but to-day I 
am simply going to announce my return to 
town.” 

“ By the way,” said Clara as he rose from 
the table, “ what about Miss Evershed ? ” 
Tarbot gave an involuntary start. Clara 
noticed a sort of quiver which seemed to run 
through his frame. He was standing with his 
back to her ; now he turned slowly. 

“ Miss Evershed, why ?” 

“ When is she to be married ? ” 

“ I don’t know. I have heard nothing either 
of her or Pelham for the last fortnight.” 

“ You will find out something to-day ? ” 

“ Probably, as I intend to call to see Mrs. 
Pelham.” 


The Die Cast. 137 

“ Is Mrs. Pelham still in London?” asked. 
Clara. 

“Yes, the house is her own.’’ 

“ That’s a good thing for you.” 

“ Why do you say so ? ” 

“ Because I know it.” 

“ It is a good thing for me,” said Tarbot 
slowly, “ a very good thing. I thought of that 
when I arranged other matters. Good-by, 
Clara ; expect me when you see me.” 


138 On the Brink of a Chasm. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

BLACK MISCHIEF. 

When her husband left the house Clara sent 
for the cook. She gave explicit orders, and 
the cook was respectful. . The woman had 
lived before now in what she considered high 
families — families where thirty servants at least 
were kept. She endeavored to impress Clara, 
but Clara was not impressed in the very least. 
The new mistress told the woman exactly what 
she required, all her remarks were pertinent 
and to the point, and the cook could not help 
respecting her. 

Clara gave firm orders, short and decisive. 
The best tradespeople were to be dealt with, 
the cooking was to be of the highest quality — 
dainty, recherche, agreeable to the palate. 

The cook went down-stairs highly pleased, 
and then Clara proceeded to interview the rest 
of the servants. She acted her part to per- 
fection — they were all pleased, inclined to be 
deferential. Even the butler was satisfied, 
and was disposed to think there was something 
in the footman’s words. 


Black Mischief. 


139 


“ Not that she's a marchioness,” he said, 
when he was alone with that functionary ; 
“ but I don’t say she mightn’t have married a 
baronight when in a previous state.” 

This admission was honey to the footman, 
who had been severely snubbed early in the 
morning, and everything was likely to go 
smoothly in Tarbot’s household 

Having arranged matters so far, Clara now 
went out. She told the footman to whistle for 
a hansom, and when it arrived she stepped 
into it with his aid. 

She desired the cabby to drive her to a job- 
master’s. She saw the head of the establish- 
ment and asked him to send round for orders 
every morning and afternoon until she had 
purchased a carriage of her own. She looked 
at the different victorias and landaus which 
were for hire, selected two of the best, which 
she said she was willing to pay special terms 
for the use of, and then told the man to take 
the victoria round to 250 Harley Street, within 
an hour. She then returned home. 

At the appointed time the victoria drew up 
at the door. Again the footman helped Mrs. 
Tarbot into her carriage, and threw a light fur 
rug over her knees. She desired the man to 
drive into Oxford Street, but after they had 
turned the corner she spoke to him again and 
told him that her real destination was Goodge 
Street. 


140 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

Having arrived at her old quarters, she 
ordered the man to drive about for an hour 
and afterwards come back for her. She then 
ran up-stairs. 

She was dressed from head to foot in black, 
for she had discovered that no other color 
suited her so well, no other style of dress 
brought out the best points in her figure or 
made the most of that dead-white complexion 
and that brilliant red-gold hair. She knocked 
at the door behind which she had so often sat 
and waited and longed for Tarbot. 

Now she was his wife, his lawful wedded 
wife. She had taken possession of his house, 
of his riches — his position in society was hers 
his name was hers. She possessed all of him 
except the part she most longed to secure — the 
man’s heart. Could she ever have that ? She 
felt that it was beyond her purchase. She 
hated and she loved him for what he withheld : 
she hated him to the point of extreme pain, 
she loved him to the point of madness. 

Mrs. Ives was in, and so was little Piers. 
Mrs. Ives started back when she saw Clara 
and began to say that her daughter was 
out. 

“Nonsense, mother; don’t talk folly,” said 
Clara. “ Don’t you know me ? ” She flung 
back her veil. 

“ A mercy me ! Whoever would suppose 
that it was you, Clara,” said the old woman. 


Black Mischief. 


141 

Why, you are fine. Fine feathers make fine 
birds. Piers, here’s your nurse come back.” 

“ I’m not Piers’s nurse any more. How are 
you. Piers, all the same ? ” said Clara. She 
now entered the room, shut the door behind 
her and turned to face her mother and the boy. 

After one admiring glance. Piers ran and 
clasped his arms round her neck. 

“ I always said you were a very handsome 
woman,” he cried. “You look awfully fine 
now you wear black. Black is the proper 
color for a lady to wear, and you’re a lady now, 
aren’t you ? ” 

“ I hope so. Piers.” 

“ A mercy me ! ” said the old woman again. 
She still stood in the background. From time 
to time she dropped a sort of involuntary 
curtsey. 

“ Are you sure it’s you, Clara ? ” she said at 
last, coming to the light. 

“ Stare at me as long as you like, mother. 
When you have quite done. I’ll sit down. I 
have a good deal to say.” 

“ May I sit on your knee ? ” asked the boy. 

“You may,” said Clara. She placed herself 
in the rocking-chair. 

The boy scrambled on to her knee. 

“ Fm quite well again,” he said in a low, 
excited voice, “ and I’ve kept my promise, 
but it was awfully hard. Do you know how I 
managed ? ” 


142 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

Clara nodded but did not speak. She was 
looking at the child with a hungry expression 
in her eyes. There was a wonderful drawing 
in her heart towards him. She felt that here 
was something more valuable than her grand 
house, her fine dress, her large establishment. 
She looked into the boy’s velvety eyes, then 
suddenly clasped him to her heart and pressed 
her lips to his. 

“ But for me, little Piers, but for me,” she 
said with a sort of strangled sob. 

“Why do you talk in such a queer way ?” 
he asked. “ Are you frightened about any- 
thing ? Are 3^ou worried ? ” 

“ No, no, I am only glad. Piers. Don’t ask 
me any more. So you kept ” 

“ Oh, yes, I kept the secret,” he said, nod- 
ding to her, an expression of delight visiting 
his small mouth. “ And I’m just going to 
tell how I managed. It was such fun. I told 
your mother — she’s a dear old thing, but she’s 
not handsome like you, nor is she a lady — I 
told her each morning at breakfast that I had 
a great secret, and then I got her to guess 
what it was.” 

“ Good Heavens ! ” said Clara. 

“ It was such fun,” continued Piers. “ She 
used to guess all sorts of things, and some- 
times sh^ shot very near the mark, nurse, but 
never quite. Sometimes she was almost cross, 
and she would say I must tell her, She’s 


Black Mischief. 


143 


wonderfully full of curiosity for such an old 
body. She never quite guessed, though once 
or twice she got very near to it. One day she 
said perhaps I was a prince in disguise. Oh, 
how I clapped my hands when she said that ! 
I laughed — didn’t I laugh just ! I said, ‘ Good, 
good, good, but not quite right.’ ” 

“ For Heaven’s sake, child, hush ! said 
Clara. “ Mother, do you mind going into the 
other room for a moment ? ” 

“ Highty tighty ! ” said the old lady. “ I 
can see well there’s a change come over you, 
Clara. You wouldn’t talk to your mother like 
that in the old days. Oh, to be sure I’ll go ; 
but I intend to have a word with you myself 
by and by.” 

The old woman went into the bedroom and 
slammed the door behind her. 

“ Now, Piers,” said Clara. 

“Are you going to be angry with me?” 
asked Piers. “ You look something like you 
used to look when you made me stare into 
your eyes.” 

“ Do you remember that ? ” asked Mrs. Tar- 
bot in some alarm. 

“I do, in a puzzled sort of way. I used 
rather to like it at first. I used to feel that I 
loved you, and yet I hated you. I felt I’d do 
anything in all the world for you, and yet I 
could not bear you, Nurse, you’re not going 
to naake me look at you again'Iike that ? ” 


144 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“Never, as there is a heaven above,” an- 
swered the woman. 

“ Why are you trembling ? Let me keep 
my arms tight round your neck. That soft 
black lace suits you awfully well. Mother 
wears lace like that — it’s very good, and it’s 
expensive. Are you a rich lady now, nurse } ” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“ Oh, I’m rather glad. Perhaps you 11 be 
able soon to take a better room. Are you 
coming back to live with us, nurse, with your 
mother and me ?” 

“ No, Piers ; but now I’m not going to talk 
of my own affairs. There is another thing 
I must say. You are not to set my mother 
guessing your secret.” 

“ But why, why?” asked the child in aston- 
ishment. “ It amuses me and it keeps me from 
telling it. I’m very dull, you know, very dull 
indeed. I, who have so much, am now given 
so little. If it were not that Mrs. Ives takes 
me out two or three times daily, and if it were 
not that I always go ” 

“ What ? ” said Clara. 

“ Oh, now you are looking really cross. I 
always walk past Ashley Mansions. I take 
Mrs. Ives there every day. I stop in front of 
No. 12, and when I’m there, just at the oppo- 
site side of the street, I make her guess harder 
than ever.” 

“This must be put a stop to,’' said Clara 


Black Mischief. 145 

under her breath. “ I have not come back a 
moment too soon.” 

“ What is the matter with you, nurse ? How 
queer you look ! ” 

“There’s nothing the matter, dear. Oh, yes, 
what you did was quite natural, and I — I am 
not cross. You are going to have a change 
soon, dear,' darling little Piers, a splendid 
change. Now run into the bedroom and send 
my mother in.” 

“ It is fun,” said the boy. “ You have 
secrets with me and secrets with your mother.” 
He strutted into the bedroom. 

“ It’s your turn now,” he said to the old 
lady. “ I am to be shut in here while you 
two talk secrets. I hate secrets, but they’re 
awful ’citing. Go, Mrs. Ives, and talk to her. 
She’s a very handsome woman, and she’s a 
lady, but I do wish she didn’t want us to keep 
so many secrets.” 

“ What’s up ? ” asked Mrs. Ives. “ Whisper 
to me, honey.” 

“ I think it’s because we walked past Ashley 
Mansions.” He stopped and clapped his hand 
to his mouth. “ Don’t you remember how I 
stopped opposite No. 12 and made you guess 
— don’t you remember ? ” 

“ Of course I remember,” said Mrs. Ives, 
with a toss of her head. “ And I can put two 
and two together as well as most. I’ll have a 
talk with Clara. Clara may keep things from 
10 


146 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

the rest of the world, but she’s not going to 
keep them from her old mother. You rest 
quiet, my little lamb ; you and I will be a 
match for Clara yet, although she is such a 
fine lady.” 

Mrs. Ives went back into the sitting-room. 
She dropped a mocking curtsey to her daugh- 
ter. 

“ A mercy me ! ” she cried for the third 
time. “ And what’s your ladyship’s pleasure 
with me ? ” 

“ Don’t talk nonsense, mother,” said Clara. 
“ Sit down and let us discuss things.” 

“ Fm agreeable,” said old Mrs. Ives. 

“ This kind of thing can’t go on, you know,” 
said Clara. 

“ What kind of thing, your ladyship ? ” 

“ Oh, mother, don’t be so irritating ; I hate 
you to speak in that strain. Look here, you 
mustn’t pry into my secrets about the boy. If 
I choose to keep him here that’s my affair. 
You’re fond of a bit of money, aren’t you, and 
I can make it well worth your while to keep 
quiet and lie low, but the moment you guess 
what I want to keep hidden, the money 
stops. The child goes elsewhere, you under- 
stand?” 

“ To be sure, Clara,” said Mrs. Ives— the 
sparkle became very bright in her eyes as slie 
spoke, and she screwed up her shrewd little 
mouth until it resembled a round O. 


Black Mischief. 


147 


“ ril be careful,” she cried. 

“Well, then, that’s all right. And now 
please tell me exactly what you have guessed.” 

“ What I have guessed,” said the old woman 
coloring. “ He ain’t your own child, I know 
that.” 

“Of course not, mother: don’t run away 
with such a wild idea. But that’s not the 
thought in your mind.” 

“ No, it ain’t ; but why should I tell it ?” 

“ You must tell it — I insist.” 

“You’ve got that masterful, you ain’t what 
you were. I don’t think riches have improved 
you, but if you want to know really what I do 
think, there’s somebody as wants to get rid of 
that child, and you are given money to hide 
him.” 

“ You’re wrong there,” said Clara. “ I have 
not got a farthing for the boy. I’m keeping 
him away from danger, that’s what I’m doing.” 

“ Away from danger ? Is it likely any 
one would hurt a pretty lamb like that ? ” 

“ There are always wolves in the world ready 
to eat up pretty lambs,” said Clara. “ But 
now listen, mother ; this air does not suit 
Piers, and I’m going to send him away. He 
shall go down to Cornwall with you. You’ll 
keep him in your own cottage, and say he's a 
boy you’ve been given to nurse. He will 
spend the winter with you, and I’ll give you 
two pounds a week as long as you look after 


148 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

him, and don’t guess any more than you know 
at present.” 

“ Two pounds a week !— A mercy me ! how 
will you get the money, Clara ? ” 

“ From my husband.” 

“ To be sure. I forgot you was married. 
You never told me the name of your husband. 
Your name is no longer Ives.” 

“ Not likely.” 

“ What is your name ? ” 

Clara hesitated, then she said slowly, 
“ Tarbot.” 

“Tarbot, Tarbot— it sounds like Turbot— 
you ain’t surely married to that doctor fellow ? ” 
“You must not talk of him in that strain. 
He’s one of the best doctors in London— one 
of the cleverest, I mean. Yes, I am his wife. 
I have a fine house and plenty of money, but 
I don’t want you to come to my house, and I 
don’t want the boy to come there. If either 
of you come to the house, or if ever 3^ou let 
out that I gave you the boy to take care of, 
mischief will come of it ; black mis^chief 
mother, black mischief.” 

“ Yes,” said the old woman. Her voice 
was cowed and she felt frightened. 

“ Come over here to me, mother. I’ll whis- 
per something to you.” 

“ You give me the creeps,” began Mrs. 
Ives. 

“ Come here, mother, come here.” 


Black Mischief. 


149 


The old woman was afraid to stir. Clara 
rose and went to her, she knelt by her side. 

“ There are those who want to get rid of the 
child,” she said in a hoarse whisper, but 
with you, mother, he is safe. Now you under- 
stand.” 

“ Yes, I think I do,” said the old woman. 
She sat back in her chair. She was white and 
trembling. 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


150 


CHAPTER XV. 
dick’s secret. 

Mrs. Pelham mourned for her boy in the 
deepest black. She gradually recovered her 
health, but her spirits were low, and she in- 
dulged in much weeping. She began to look 
pale and old, and her friends all pitied her 
sincerely. 

For the first fortnight after the unexpected 
death of the boy Mrs. Evershed did not dare 
to visit the unhappy widow. She felt that 
under such peculiar, such wonderful circum- 
stances, she could scarcely command her own 
face. The event which was a terrible blow to 
Mrs. Pelham was life and the resurrection of all 
things bright and beautiful to Mrs. Evershed. 
Now, indeed, Dick Pelham was a son-in-law 
after her own heart. She did not dare to 
hurry on the wedding too soon, .but at the 
same time she was glad to tell her friends that 
Barbara was engaged to the dear fellow quite 
a fortnight before his little cousin died. 

People were fond of congratulating Barbara 
and talking about her luck, but Barbara her- 


Dick’s Secret. 


151 

self quickly put a stop to this. She felt the 
child’s death acutely, and was low-spirited and 
nervous. She was happy because she was 
engaged to the man of her heart, but in other 
ways she was not happy. Riches had come 
to her ; her mother’s affairs were all put abso- 
lutely straight. In future she would never 
know the meaning of want of money. Money 
in full abundance was to be hers, but somehow 
— she could not quite tell why— a certain zest 
w^as taken out of her life. 

As to Dick, there was a queer change in him. 
He gave up visiting at Mrs. Pelham’s house, 
and he hated to hear his cousin’s name men- 
tioned. When alone with Barbara he was apt 
to lapse into long fits of silence. Once he told 
Barbara that he would fifty times rather work 
as a navvy than step into the riches which now 
were his. Barbara felt surprised at words 
which she considered too strong for the occa- 
sion. 

“ If it was God’s will ” she began. 

“ But it was not His will,” interrupted Dick 
fiercely. “ Don’t talk about it any more, 
Barbara.” 

He became gloomy, reserved, and irritable ; 
over and over these moods visited him. In the 
old days there was not a gayer, happier fellow 
than Dick Pelham. He had a kind word for 
every one ; now he was morose and disagree- 
able. Barbara could not account for the change 


i52 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

in his manner. Mrs. Pelham noticed it. She 
spoke to Barbara about it. 

“ He is a different man. I should not know 
him for the same," she said. 

“ It is grief, it is grief," said Barbara. 

“ Oh darling ! it is sweet of him to grieve, 
and I love him for it," said the poor woman, 
“ but I wish he would grieve in 'the way you do, 
Barbara. If he would only come and talk to 
me, we might look at my angel’s toys together 
and comfort ourselves with memories of him ; 
but to keep away from me, never to come near 
the house, it looks strange — it is strange." 

To this remark Barbara made no reply. 

One day, about six weeks after little Piers’s 
death, Pelham called at Mrs. Evershed’s 
house. He had written Barbara a note to say 
that he wished to see her on an important mat- 
ter, and begged her to be at home. 

“ How ill you look ! " cried Barbara when 
she saw him. “ Your face is dreadfully white. 
I wish you would tell me what is wrong." 

“I have come here to do so," he answered. 

“ Oh ! I am glad of that. I am so puzzled 
about you, and so is Mrs. Pelham. Mother 
noticed even yesterday that you were not quite 

so Oh, it does not matter what she said ; 

we won’t talk of it. But ever since dear little 
Piers died I cannot help, seeing that you are 
changed." 

“lam worried, Barbara. I am more than 


Dick’s Secret, 


153 

worried— I am tortured by a doubt. That 
doubt makes all the world dark.” 

“ What is it, Dick ?” 

“You may not wish to marry me when you 
know.” 

“ Dick ! ” The girl’s face turned white. 

“Have you heard that Tarbot is married ? ” 

“ Dr. Tarbot married ! ” cried Barbara. 

“ How startled you look ! Does it affect you 
much ? ” 

“ It astonishes me, Dick. But why should 
you look at me so strangely ? ” 

“ I don’t know myself,” said the young man. 
“ I feel suspicious and queer about everything. 
He loved you, Barbara.” 

“ He said so, but men quickly change,” said 
the girl. Then she added with spirit, “I never 
could bear him. I was grateful to him for 
what he did for mother, but I never could bear 
him for himself. It is a relief that he is mar- 
ried. Who is the girl ? ” 

“ You will never guess her name.” 

“ Then tell me, if I am not likely to guess.” 

“Barbara, he must have done this for a 
reason. He has married that red-haired 
nurse who attended little Piers when he was 
ill.” 

Barbara’s utter astonishment was reflected in 
her face. A queer thrill of alarm ran through 
her frame. 

“ Sit still,” said Pelham. “ I must ask you 


1 54 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

to share my burden with me. That marriage 
confirms a suspicion which I hold."' 

“ What, Dick— what ? ” 

Pelham began to pace up and down the 
room. 

“ I am pursued by a horrible fear,” he said 
suddenly. “I think — nay, sometimes my 
thoughts seem certainties — I think that little 
Piers came by his death through foul means. 
Barbara, the thought terrifies me ; it takes the 
joy out of everything. I am haunted by it.” 

“ Dick ! Dick ! ” said the girl. “ Why, this 
is madness,” she continued. “ I have heard 
of people getting queer when they are over- 
wrought as you have been lately. Your nerves 
are out of order. Darling, do cast the awful 
thought from you. There is no foundation 
for it— none. It terrifies me even to hear you 
speak.” 

“ Aye,” said Pelham ; “but what if you had 
to live with my thought day and night, if it 
haunted you in your dreams, if it pursued you 
wherever you went— just that little life clamor- 
ing to be avenged ? Barbara, you don’t suppose 
that this is merely a figment of the imagination 
— that I have no cause for what I think ? ” 

“ Oh, Dick ! I am sick with terror. Must you 
tell me any more ? ” 

“ I must. Afterwards we need not talk of it. 
Oh, I cannot marry you keeping all this dark.” 

“ This is a figment of the imagination,” cried 


Dick’s Secret. 


155 


the girl. “ Did we not go into the room a 
moment or two after his death ? Dick, I will 
not listen. You are nervous. Marry me, Dick 
— dear Dick. Let our wedding be soon. I will 
comfort you, I will cheer you, I will banish 
those awful thoughts.” 

“ Do you really wish to hear nothing more ?” 
asked Pelham, gazing at her in astonishment. 

“For the present I do. I am so certain that 
you have no ground for your terrors. Dr. 
Tarbot is bad, but he is not a murderer. Dick, 
when I am your wife, I can exorcise the de- 
mon. I don’t mind what the world says. Let 
us be married quietly, and at once.” 

“You have not got your trousseau. Most 
girls think of that.” 

“We can get what we want after we are 
married.” 

Pelham stood up. 

“You really wish me to say nothing more 
about my suspicions ? ” 

“ I won’t listen — there’s nothing in them. 
We will marry and I will make you happy— so 
happy, Dick, that you will forget your nervous 
terrors.” 

“ You tempt me, Barbara.” 

“ Say yes, then, my darling. Surely you 
won’t refuse ? ” 

“ Not I. I long for you. I do believe you 
are the only one who can put me right, and your 
feeling that there is nothing in it gives me a 


156 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

momentary sensation of comfort, but remem- 
ber I have not told you why I suspect.” 

“ You shall some day — when we are married, 
but not now. You are prejudiced ; you hate 
Dr. Tarbot — surely not more than I hate him 
— but that he should stoop to such a horrible 
crime — no, Dick, no. Turn your thought away 
from it. It is wrong.” 

“ When shall we be married ? ” he asked. 

“ Whenever you like — next week, the week 
after, whenever you please.” 

“ The sooner the better,” answered Pelham. 


The Wrong Medicine. 


IS7 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE wrong medicine. 

The wedding took place in a fortnight. 
The marriage was solemnized at St. James’s, 
Fore Street. This was the church which 
Barbara and her mother attended on Sundays. 
Seeing the church open, one or two spectators 
dropped in. They got quietly into seats, and 
waited while the service went on. They no- 
ticed the firm upright figure of the bride, her 
clear voice. They noticed the bridegroom also 
— his tall, erect frame, his gallant bearing. But 
as the bride and bridegroom left the church 
together more than one person noticed the 
shadow on his face. 

“ What does it mean ? ” they said. “ This 
is a true love marriage ; we have heard the 
particulars, and the bridegroom has just come 
into enormous wealth. What does it mean ? 
He does not look a happy man.” 

Amongst the spectators were two whose eyes 
Barbara encountered with an obvious start. 
Seated in a pew which opened into the center 
aisle was Dr. Tarbot. He gave both Pelham 


158 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

and Barbara a keen, bright glance. In a dis- 
tant part of the church Tarbot’s wife also wit- 
nessed the ceremony. On this occasion she 
preferred not to sit with her husband. Tarbot 
had no idea that she was in the church, but 
Pelham and Barbara noticed her. 

Barbara felt a queer thrill of fear as she 
glanced for an instant at the light blue eyes. 

From the church the pair went straight to 
Dover, crossed to Calais, spent one night in 
Paris, and then went on to Switzerland. It 
was late autumn now, and Switzerland was in 
all the glory of its autumn coloring. After the 
first two or three days Barbara determined to 
cast aside the fear which haunted her — the fear 
with regard to her husband’s sanity — for she 
never for a moment gave the least credence to 
there being any truth in his suspicions, and 
began to enjoy herself. She was with the man 
she loved, her best dreams were realized — she 
was Dick’s forever. 

In her eyes he had always been a hero, one 
of the best of men. In truth, he was by nature 
a man any girl might love— frank, independent, 
brave, fearless. Barbara felt that she loved 
him all the more because his great riches 
slightly oppressed him, because his grief for 
his young cousin’s untimely death had for the 
time upset his nerves. She felt that her de- 
votion, her love must work wonders. When 
she found that he did not care to talk about 


The Wrong Medicine. 159 

the house and wealth which had come to him 
so unexpectedly, Barbara also avoided the 
subject. 

She had made up her mind, however. She 
knew that what Pelham wanted was plenty of oc- 
cupation. Their honeymoon, therefore, should 
not be too long — they would go back to Eng- 
land within a month or six weeks, and take up 
the onerous duties which now had fallen on 
their shoulders. When he worked, when he 
went in and out amongst his people, when he 
took up the position of landlord on a large 
scale, Pelham would drop that gloom which 
enveloped him like a mantle. 

Four weeks passed by, and the bride began 
to have anxious moments with regard to the 
approaching return to England. She had 
always lived a busy life, and did not care for a 
dolce far niente existence longer than could be 
helped. The pair were spending their last 
week at Glion. The hotel where they were 
staying would be closed at the end of a month. 
On a certain evening they stood together on 
a balcony outside the big drawing-room. A 
waiter brought them coffee ; they sat with a 
small table between them. Pelham w^as smok- 
ing a fragrant cigar, and Barbara in one of 
her pretty white dresses looked shadowy and 
ethereal in the half-light. 

“ Dick, do you know what this reminds me 
of ?” she said, laying her hand on his arm. 


i6o On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“No/’ he answered. He started when she 
touched him, for he was given to starting of late. 

“ It reminds me of that happy night when 
you asked me if I would be your wife. I had 
two proposals that night.” Barbara laughed 
as she spoke. “ Before you said those words 
which made me the happiest girl in the world 
Dr. Tarbot had spoken of his love. We were 
on the balcony just outside the drawing-room 
in Mark Place. The light was subdued — 
something like this — Dr. Tarbot spoke with 
great and strange passion. I see his face even 
now, and the queer look in his eyes when I 
refused him. All the time he was speaking I 
could not help thinking that I hated him more 
each moment. I left him on the balcony and 
went into the drawing-room. Then you met 
me and we strolled together to the conserva- 
tories. Do you remember, Dick ? ” 

“Yes,” he answered. 

“ Do you remember the scent of that rose ? 
It was a Gloire de Dijon. You touched it with 
your fingers as you spoke.” 

“Yes,” he replied again, and now he 
stretched out his hands and clasped one of 
hers, holding it in a warm pressure. “ I am 
the luckiest fellow in the world,” he said, 
“ but I wish to heaven I could ” 

“You could do what ?” she answered. 

“ Get rid of that suspicion or— -or verify it.” 

“ Dick dear ! ” said Barbara in her most 


The Wrong Medicine. i6i 

soothing voice. She slipped nearer to him. 
“ I have changed my mind. We had better 
have this thing out. What do you want to 
verify ? ” 

Pelham looked at her steadily. 

“ Do you really wish to know at last ? ” he 
said. 

“ Yes.” 

“ It will be a relief to tell you. You re- 
member that Piers ahvays slept in the nursery. 
The dressing-room was just beyond, and the 
nurse kept the medicine and all bottles in the 
dressing-room. The first night I visited him 
I went with her to the door of the dressing- 
room. She gave me the medicine, and I took 
it into the room alone. I gave the child the 
medicine, and just when he had finished it 
the nurse came back. The boy complained 
that the medicine tasted queer and sweet, not 
like that which he had been taking. 

“ The nurse took the glass and tasted what 
was left, and said that she thought the child 
must have had the wrong medicine. She 
went out of the room as she spoke and shut 
the door after her. I forgot about this at the 
time, but it came back to me afterwards. 

“ Ever since the death I have been putting 
two and two together. I have been anxious 
to meet Mrs. Tarbot to ask her if she ever had 
the medicine analyzed to find out why she 
called it wrong. Then, Barbara dear, I don’t 

II 


1 62 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

believe that Piers had heart disease. Don’t 
you remember how he used to run and race, 
and play tennis and croquet, and ride his pony 
and his bicycle ? 

“ He could not have done all these things 
if he had organic disease of the heart — I don’t 
believe it. Pie was taken ill very suddenly, 
and a favorite nurse of Tarbot’s was engaged 
to look after him. She herself confessed in 
my presence that there was something wrong 
with the medicine which she handed to me to 
give him. All these things might have been 
of course merely incidents leading to nothing, 
but on the night the child died a strange thing 
happened. I was called to the door of the 
dressing-room and given the boy’s medicine 
again. The nurse said it would have a very 
stimulating effect, and. would take off the 
weakness from which the child was suffering. 
It did not do so — on the contrary, the boy died 
a few moments afterwards.” 

“ But he might have died in any case ; and 
three doctors examined his heart,” exclaimed 
Barbara. “You make me feel uncomfortable 
when you speak in this way, but I cannot at 
present see that there is anything whatever to 
account for your suspicions. If there really 
is, the thing to do is to make inquiries, and so 
set your mind at rest. I see that this is not a 
mere question of nerves.” 

“ No, dear, I assure you it is not. I am torn 


The Wrong Medicine. 163 

between two opinions. I feel inclined one 
moment to go straight ahead and sift the thing 
to the bottom, and then again I hesitate, for I 
have so little to go upon.” 

“ If you have nothing to go upon, you must 
make up your mind to banish your suspicions,” 
said Barbara, speaking in a resolute voice. 
“ They do you harm, Dick. You are not the 
man you were. Now that the child is dead 
a great responsibility devolves upon you, and 
you ought to rise with courage to meet it. I 
want you, Dick, to be the best landlord that 
the Pelham property has ever had. I have 
ideals which I never thought to have realized, 
but if you will do your part, they may come to 
pass.” 

I wish Piers was back in the world,” said 
the young man. “ I should be ten times 
happier living with you, Barbara, in a little 
house and struggling for briefs. Of course, if 
the property and title had come to me in the 
ordinary way ” 

“ But, Dick, they have,” said Barbara, rising 
as she spoke. “ You will dwell on this matter 
so long that your mind will really become 
affected at last.” 

“ Sit down,” said Pelham. He held out his 
hand and drew her back to her seat close to 
his side. “ I have not quite told you all. Sit 
close to me, Barbara. We must talk of this 
in whispers.” 


164 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

Barbara drew nearer to her husband. The 
balcony at this moment was absolutely deserted. 

“ Do you remember what happened im- 
mediately after Piers’s death ? ” 

“ What do you mean ? Of course, I re- 
member everything.” 

“ I allude to the night when the coffin was 
brought home.” 

Barbara gave a slight shudder. 

“ I was in the house then,” she said. “ Mrs. 
Pelham was very ill. It is true Nurse Hester 
had arrived, but I liked to be with Mrs. Pel- 
ham, and she was glad to have me.” 

“ On the night the coffin was brought in, 
two days before the funeral, I called very late 
to see you.” 

“ Yes, I had gone to bed. The servant told 
me of your visit in the morning.” 

“ I arrived between eleven and twelve at 
night. I rang the bell, and the footman came 
to answer the door. He told me that all the 
household had gone to bed, and that he had 
got up to answer my summons. I said I 
should like to come in, as I wanted to verify 
something in the library. I said I would let 
myself out presently, and that he need not stay 
up. Of course, he treated me just like one of 
the family. 

“ I went to the library and stayed there for 
a little. My mind was full of suspicion, in a 
turmoil and agony of uncertainty. I was only 


The Wrong Medicine. 165 

waiting for something more to go upon, in 
order to have the whole thing sifted to the very 
bottom. 

“ I stayed in the library for over half an 
hour. You know it is far away from the rest 
of the house. About half-past twelve I thought 
I would go up to the room where the child 
had died and try if I could find any of the 
medicines. My idea was to secure a bottle 
and get the contents analyzed. I naturally 
supposed that the nurse would be in one of 
the rooms, and meant to ask her to give me a 
bottle with a little of the medicine which Piers 
had last taken. I ran up- stairs. The house 
was dark, for the electric light had been put 
out, but I carried a candle. I opened the door 
of the room where the dead child lay, and went 
in. It did not take me a moment to switch on 
the light, and I then saw that the coffin was on 
the bed, and noticed with a start that the lid 
was screwed down. 

“ It seemed to me that it was strangely soon 
to screw on the lid. I went over and stood by 
the coffin. The nurse was nowhere to be seen. 
I then went into the dressing-room and began 
to search about for the medicine bottles, but 
although they had been lying on the table 
during Piers’s illness they had all been removed. 
There were two cupboards in the room— one 
was open, the other locked. In the open cup- 
board were no bottles of any sort. I felt very 


i66 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


much inclined to burst open the lock of the 
other cupboard, but refrained. I feared the 
noise might disturb Mrs. Pelham. 

“ I left the room after being there for about 
a quarter of an hour, not having effected my 
purpose. As I was going down-stairs I was met 
by the butler. He had also got up, as he said 
he had heard the noise of people moving about 
the house, and could not think what was the 
matter. I told him at once that I had been 
up to bid little Piers good-by. 

“‘Yes,’ said the man, ‘ I’d like to go and 
have a last look at the little gentleman myself, 
sir.’ 

“ ‘You cannot do so, Johnson,’ I answered. 
‘ They have screwed on the lid of the coffin 
already.’ 

“ ‘ But it’s very soon,’ said the man. 

“ ‘ It is very soon,’ I replied. He stared at 
me as if he scarcely believed the evidence of 
his own ears. I said nothing further, but left 
the house. Barbara dear, how white you look ! ” 

“ Well, is there anything more ? ” she asked. 

“ Only this. I happened to meet Tarbot the 
next day, and told him that I had gone up to 
bid little Piers good-by. I said that I was 
surprised to see the lid already screwed on the 
coffin. He said that circumstances made it 
necessary. Tarbot certainly looked like an in- 
nocent man— he was brisk and energetic, and 
had just a natural degree of soberness about 


The Wrong Medicine. 167 

him. While I was with him I felt ashamed 
of my suspicions, and could not speak about 
what I dreaded. 

“ Time went by. I attended the funeral. 
Tarbot also went to it. I hoped that my fears 
would quickly die ; but instead of their dying, 
Barbara, they are strengthened day by day. 
If nothing is done to relieve me I shall soon 
be one of those curses of the nineteenth century 
— a man of nerves.” 

“ I am glad you have spoken all that is in 
your mind,” said Barbara ; “ and now I tell you 
what we must do. All this must be cured 
absolutely, and the only cure is plenty of oc- 
cupation. We have been long enough in 
Switzerland ; we will return home to-morrow.” 

“ To London ?” 

“ To London, if you like, for a day or two, 
and theft on to Pelham Towers or the Priory.” 

“ Pelham Towers is the most important 
place,” said Dick, “and I am sure the people 
will be glad to welcome us. I hav^ lived at the 
Towers, as you know, a good deal.” 

Barbara rose to reenter the hotel. Just as she 
was about to do so a man’s figure darkened 
the window. He was tall, with black hair, a 
thin face, and a kindly, shrewd, clever mouth. 
He stared tor a moment at Barbara, glanced 
beyond her at Pelham, and then with a hearty 
exclamation of surprise and pleasure came for- 
ward. 


1 68 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ Who would have thought of seeing you 
here, Pelham ?” he said. “ Pray introduce me 
to your wife.” 

“ Carroll, this is luck ! ” cried Pelham. 

Barbara came forward at once when she 
heard the name. She had never met Mr. 
Carroll before, but he was a well-known 
London lawyer, and also one of little Piers 
Pelham’s guardians. 

The two men exchanged some commonplace 
observations, and Barbara stood for a moment 
listening to them and joining in herself oc- 
casionally. Then, laying her hand on her 
husband’s shoulder, she said that she was tired 
and would go to her room, and the two men 
were left alone together. Leaning, over the 
balcony, they lit their cigars and began to 
smoke. Carroll, who had been silent for a 
moment, spoke abruptly. 

“ When are you going home ? ” 

“ To-morrow.” 

‘‘ Back to London ? ” 

“ I suppose so for a day or two.” 

“ I am glad to hear it.” 

“Why?” 

“You don’t mind if I speak openly, do you, 
Pelham ? ” 

“ Of course I don’t. But what do you mean ? 
I hold no secrets.” As Pelham spoke he 
started and flushed— the memory of all his sus- 
picions with regard to Piers rushed over him. 


The Wrong Medicine. 169 

Carroll, who had been gazing fixedly at him, 
noticed his change of color. 

“ There are some ugly rumors about you in 
London. You had better go there and show 
yourself.” 

“ Ugly rumors about me ? ” said Pelham. 
“ I don’t understand.” 

“ Well, it has got abroad — I daresay there’s 
not a word of truth in it — but it is the talk of 
more than one club that you signed a post obit 
for a large sum just before that child, little 
Piers, was taken ill. I don’t believe it for a 
moment : and I denied it flatly. You are the 
last man to put your hand to such a document. 
What is the matter, old fellow ? — you look ill.” 

“ But it is true ; I did sign a post obit,"’ 
answered Pelham in a low voice. 

Carroll uttered a surprised exclamation. 

“You astound me,” he said. “Then for 
Heaven’s sake, go back to London at once. 
This is not a time for you to hide yourself in 
a corner.” 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


170 


CHAPTER XVII. 

MRS. PELHAM. 

The Pelhams returned home and took up 
their quarters at Mrs. Evershed’s house in 
Mark Place. 

Pelham had been in London two or three 
days before he could muster sufficient courage 
to visit Mrs. Pelham. 

“You must come, Dick,” said his young 
wife ; “ your keeping away looks strange. 
Mrs. Pelham has been talking to mother about 
you and wondering why you never come near 
her. She sent us an invitation only yesterday, 
and she wants us to take tea with her this 
afternoon. I accepted her invitation for us 
both. Come with me, and get it over.” 

Pelham remained silent for a moment. 
Then he said — 

“Yes, Barbara, it is best to get it over. I 
will come.” 

At the appointed hour they arrived at Ash- 
ley Mansions. Mrs, Pelham was alone in the 
old drawing-room where Dick had so often 
greeted her in the presence of little Piers. 

Barbara in her rich furs, her eyes sparkling 


Mrs. Pelham. 


171 

and the color of health and happiness on her 
cheeks, made a lovely picture as she advanced 
eagerly into the room. ' She held out both her 
hands, and tears of sympathy filled her eyes. 
She put her arms round the little widow’s neck 
and kissed her. Mrs. Pelham received her 
with effusion, but her real anxiety was to get 
a glimpse of Dick. 

“ Ah ! ” she said, “ you have come at last.” 
She looked full up into the young man’s face 
and burst into tears. 

“ I didn’t think you would have left me so 
long,” she continued. “ I thought you would 
have been a son to me now.” 

She sobbed audibly. Pelham was visibly 
affected. Mrs. Pelham sat down, and he placed 
himself near her. Presently she held out one 
of her hands and invited him to clasp it in his. 

“ No one in all the world is as dear to me^ 
as you are now,” she said. 

“I thought that under the circumstances 
you would rather not see me,” said Pelham. 

“ What a strange thought to come to you ! 
You certainly were wrong. Do you think I 
grudge you what once belonged to him ? I 
am not quite so base as that.” 

“ Dick has been in very low spirits since 
little Piers’s death,” said Barbara suddenly. 
“ He felt his death dreadfully. He loved him 
as if he were his own brother.” 

“ I know that,” said Mrs. Pelham, taking out 


172 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

her handkerchief and applying it afresh to her 
eyes. “ And now— I say it quite frankly, Dick 
—now that God has seen fit to remove little 
Piers, I am more glad that you should have 
the property than any one else in the world. 
If anything could reconcile me to the death 
of my only boy, it is the thought that you are 
his heir.” 

“ Thank you,” said Dick. “ You are more 
than good.” 

“Will you come and visit us at Pelham 
Towers this winter, Mrs. Pelham ?” said Bar- 
bara. 

Mrs. Pelham looked attentively from one 
young face to the other — Barbara’s full of eager- 
ness, fire and enthusiasm, Dick’s strangely 
downcast. 

“Yes, I will come,” she answered. “Dick, 
you feel all this too much.” 

Pelham walked to the mantelpiece. There 
he stood fidgeting with one of the ornaments, 
his back turned to Mrs. Pelham and Barbara. 
Barbara saw that the interview was proving 
too much for him. She was distressed and 
alarmed at his state, and as soon as possible 
rose to leave. 

“ What a short visit ! ” said Mrs. Pelham in 
a fretful tone. “ I hoped you would both stay 
and have a long talk. There is so much that 
we have to talk over together.” 

“ I will come again to morrow,” said Bar- 


Mrs. Pelham. 


173 

bara in her soft voice, glancing as she spoke 
towards her husband. 

“ He is dreadfully upset,” she continued, 
dropping her voice almost to a whisper. “ I 
will come by myself if I may.” 

“ When do you leave London ? ” asked Mrs. 
Pelham. 

“On Saturday, I think. Don’t we go to 
Pelham Towers on Saturday, Dick ? ” 

“Yes,” replied Pelham. “We will both 
come to say good-by before we leave London, 
and we hope to see you, Mrs. Pelham, at the 
Towers in the winter,” he added. 

The two women said a few more words to 
each other, and then Barbara and her husband 
found themselves outside the door. 

They walked as far as Mark Place. 

“ I shan’t come in just yet, Barbara,” said 
Dick. “ That visit has upset me — I shall go 
for a walk. Ask your mother not to wait 
dinner.” 

He turned immediately and left her. Bar- 
bara went up-stairs to the drawing-room, where 
her mother was waiting for her. 

“Did you see Mrs. Pelham?” asked Mrs. 
Evershed. 

“ Yes.” 

“ I am glad Dick went there at last.” 

Barbara made no reply. 

“ She is recovering, is she not ? ” said Mrs. 
Evershed. 


174 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


“ She seemed to me to be in very great 
trouble/' replied Barbara. “ Seeing Dick up- 
set her dreadfully.” 

“ He ought to have gone there long ago. ' 
said her mother. “His not doing so arouses 
suspicion.” 

“ Arouses suspicion, mother ?” echoed Bar- 
bara. “ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Well, Barbara, you may as well know it — 
there has been considerable talk about a post 
obit” 

Post obit — what is that ?" asked Barbara. 

“ It is a document in which a man makes 
himself liable to pay away property which he 
does not possess at the time, but which will 
be his at the death of a relation.” 

“ I do not understand,” said Barbara. 

“Well, my dear, that is what your husband 
has done.” 

“ My husband has signed a post obit ! I 
think you must be wrong.” 

“ I am not wrong. Your husband promised 
to pay a certain sum of money on the death of 
Piers Pelham. It is always considered a shady 
thing to do, and I cannot imagine how a man 
like Dick could have been guilty of such an 
indiscretion. It makes at the present moment 
a handle for talk. I don’t like it, I must say 
so frankly.” 

Barbara was silent. Her face had turned 
very pale. 


Mrs. Pelham. 


175 

\ “The story as it reached my ears was some- 
thing as follows,” continued Mrs. Evershed. 
“You remember how kind we thought Dr. 
Tarbot when he lent me that ten thousand 
pounds ! ” 

“ Certainly, mother, and he was very kind. 
I don’t like him for most things, but I always 
did think he was generous about that.” 

“ It seems, Barbara, that he was not quite 
so generous as we imagined, for Dick — poor 
fellow ! — was implicated in the matter too. 
Dr. Tarbot required some security for his 
money. I had none to give him, and the se- 
curity he claimed was that Dick should pay 
him as soon as he came in for the property.” 

“ For what property ? ” 

“ Barbara, my dear, how silly you are ! The 
Pelham property.” 

“ Are you sure you are right ? ” 

“ Positive. You can ask your husband your- 
self.” 

“When did this happen?” asked the girl. 
She was trembling visibly. 

*“ Sit down, dear. Really, Barbara, you are 
a most impulsive persouv There’s nothing so 
dreadful in what I tell you~it may be an in- 
discretion, of course, but many men do it.” 

“Not men like Dick,” said Barbara— she 
spoke with an effort. 

“ My dear child, notwithstanding your quix- 
otic views with regard to that husband of yours. 


176 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

you must accept facts. Dick signed a docu- 
ment which is called a post obit, in which he 
promised to pay back the capital of ten thou- 
sand pounds to Dr. Tarbot whenever he came 
in for the Pelham estates.” 

“ When did he sign the document ?” asked 
Barbara. 

“ On the day the loan was made to me.” 

Lady Pelham walked to the window and 
stood there looking out. Everything seemed 
dim and strange. She had a queer singing in 
her ears. She could hear nothing for a mo- 
ment but this tempestuous noise. She turned 
and faced her mother. 

“ I am going out, mother,” she said. 

“ But it is so late, dear, and you have only 
just come in.” 

“ I must go.” 

“ Where ? ” 

“ I will tell you presently.” 

“ Barbara, are you going to have secrets 
from me, your mother ? ” 

“ I will tell you presently. I cannot now.” 

Barbara left the room. 

Mrs. Evershed walked to the window and 
watched her as she crossed the little quad- 
rangle which stood in front of Mark Place. 
The girl went down a street, which led into a 
wide thoroughfare. 

“ How queerly she takes it,” thought the 
mother. “ Many a man has done a similar 


Mrs. Pelham. 


177 


thing before now. I am sorry Barbara is so 
sensitive. Doubtless those two will have their 
first quarref over this matter. How did the 
rumor get out ? Such private things as these 
are never known as a rule. What can it 
mean ? ” 

Meanwhile Barbara, her heart on fire, and 
the noise of its loud beating quite audible in 
her ears, walked rapidly in the direction of 
Tarbot s house in Harley Street. She arrived 
there about six o'clock. When the servant 
answered her summons she asked if the doctor 
was in. The man said no. 

“When do you expect him to return?" 
asked Barbara. 

“ Not until late, madam. He had to go into 
the country to attend a patient." 

Barbara hesitated for a moment ; then with 
reluctance she put her next question. 

“ Is Mrs. Tarbot at home ? " 

“ I will inquire, madam, if you will wait a 
moment." 

“If she is at home I should like to see her." 

“ What name shall I say ? " 

“ Lady Pelham." 

The man invited Barbara in and went up- 
stairs to make the inquiry. He returned 
quickly to say that his mistress was at home, 
and would be pleased to see Lady Pelham. 

Barbara followed him up the richly carpeted 
.stairs into a magnificent drawing-room on the 
12 


178 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

first floor. This room had been newly fur- 
nished, and showed excellent taste in ^11 its 
arrangements. The electric light was subdued 
by golden silk draperies over the pomegranate 
shaped globes, the curtains were drawn before 
the large windows, there was a fire in the grate. 
From the depths of a deep armchair a tall 
woman dressed in black rose as Barbara en- 
tered. She had a pale face and radiant red- 
gold hair. She came a step or two forward 
and half hesitated whether to hold out her 
hand or not. Barbara advanced to meet her. 
For a moment she could not recognize in this 
graceful and perfectly dressed lady Nurse 
Ives, whom she had last seen at Ashley Man- 
sions. 

“ Is this really you ? ” was the exclamation 
which burst involuntarily from her lips. 

“Yes, it is I,” replied Mrs. Tarbot. “I am 
changed.” 

“ You are transformed.” 

Mrs. Tarbot gave a faint smile. 

“ Won’t you sit down ? ” she said. 

“ Thank you,” answered Barbara. She 
seated herself and threw up her veil. 

“ It is good of you to pay me this visit,” said 
Tarbot’s wife. 

“ I have come to you because your husband 
is out. This is not an ordinary call.” 

“ Indeed !” Mrs. Tarbot looked at Barbara 
with an intense and hungry stare. 


Mrs. Pelham. 


179 

“ I will treat whatever you tell me as confi- 
dential,” she said. 

Barbara looked full at her. Her very voice 
had altered, her manners were those of a re- 
fined and well-educated woman. Her dress, 
black, and of the softest lace and silk, scarcely 
rustled as she moved. 

Now as she returned Barbara’s gaze her eyes 
grew bright. The eyes themselves were of a 
very pale blue, painfully deficient in color by 
daylight, but at night the pupils were apt to 
dilate, and in the midst of the white face the 
eyes glowed dark, somber and watchful. 
Barbara thought she had never seen a more 
peculiar or a stronger type of face. She was 
so much engaged in the amazing discovery of 
the changed Nurse Ives that she could not 
speak for a moment. 

“ Have you got over your astonishment?” 
said Mrs. Tarbot at last, speaking very 
softly. 

Barbara started and colored. 

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” she replied. “I 
hope you will forgive me. You are so trans- 
formed that I did not know you.” 

“ That is true. Lady Pelham,” was the slow 
reply ; “ I am as much altered as the circum- 
stances of my life have changed. When you 
last saw me I was only a nurse. My parentage 
is humble, my mother is a very humble person 
indeed. She is an excellent woman and with 


i8o On the Brink of a Chasm. 

plenty of character, but she belongs to the 
peasantry of our county.” 

“ What is your county ? ” asked Barbara. 

“ Cornwall.” 

“ Ah ! ” 

“ My mother has a little cottage in Cornwall 
by the sea coast. She pays ten pounds a year 
for it. She lives not very far from Falmouth. 
I remember the time when there was extreme 
difficulty in meeting that ten pounds rent. 
Then I went away and was trained as a nurse, 
and ” 

“And you married Dr. Tarbot ?” 

“Yes, I married Dr. Tarbot. I am sorry he 
is out. He would doubtless have answered 
whatever question you intend to ask better 
than I could.” 

“I wished to see him with regard to a curi- 
ous rumor which is afloat, but I have some- 
thing else to say to you.” 

“ What is that ? lam all attention.” 

“ May I trust you ? ” 

“Absolutely.” 

“ It is about my husband. He is not well. 
He is troubled by a nervous ailment.” 

Mrs. Tarbot looked watchful and eager. 
She no longer lay back in her chair ; she sat 
upright, her thin hands were folded on her lap, 
the jewels with which her fingers were loaded 
shone in the firelight. Her eyes, filled with 
bold intentness, were fixed on Barbara’s white 


Mrs. Pelham. 


i8i 


face. All the remarkable and gracious beauty 
of the young face was torture to the jealous 
heart of the other woman. She saw that a new 
development in her strange history was im- 
minent, and roused herself, bracing every nerve 
to meet it. “Yes,” she said, “a nervous 
ailment. This is the age for such maladies. 
We live too fast, we put too much into our 
lives, nerves get overwrought, they give way. 
Our grandmothers vegetated, they did not 
know the meanin’g of nerves. A young man, 
rich, in the prime of youth, who has just mar- 
ried the girl he loves, ought not to suffer from 
nervous troubles.” 

“ My husband cannot get over the death of 
the child.” 

“Ah !” 

“ He is haunted by strange fears in connec- 
tion with that death.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ What I say, and I have come now to ask 
you to tell me frankly and fully, knowing that 
God is present and is listening to us, what the 
child really died of.’’ 

“Acute disease of the heart.” 

“ I wish you* would tell Dick so. His mind 
is in a strange state of confusion. If you were 
to see him and repeat the words you have just 
told me it might give him untold relief.” 

“ My word alone would not do that. When 
Dr. Tarbot signed the death certificate he 


i 82 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

spoke of the cause of death as aortic disease— 
that means disease of the aortic valve of the 
heart, a species of heart disease which invari- 
ably ends suddenly. Dr. Williamson and Sir 
Richard Spears were of the same opinion. 
My word goes for nothing. Let your husband 
see the great specialists who examined the 
boy's heart within twenty-four hours of his 
death." 

“ I am greatly obliged to you," said Barbara. 
She rose to go as she spoke. “ I will tell Dick 
what you say. Yes, he must see the doctors. 
Their verdict will set his mind at rest." 

Barbara held out her hand. 

“lam glad you came to see me," said Mrs. 
Tarbot, “ and if in the future I can help you, 
pray command me.” 

“ But how can you help me ?" 

“ I mean this. From what you say, your 
husband is suffering from nerve depression. 
Nothing else can account for the curious state 
you have half described. The doctors whom 
he consults may set his mind at rest, but if after 
seeing them his troubles return, his complaint 
ought to be treated as something physical, an 
ailment of the body which requires cure.” 

“ But how can such a thing be cured ? How 
can a thought, a dominant thought, be ban- 
ished ? " 

“ It can, and— I can do it." 

“ You, Mrs. Tarbot ? You ? " 


Mrs. Pelham. 183 

“Yes, I. Did I ever tell you that I spent 
three years of my life in Paris ? 

“ No.” 

“ I did. I was one of the principal assistants 
of the great Dr. Weismann. When he lived 
he was the greatest mesmerist, the greatest 
hypnotist of his day. He accomplished more 
cures by hypnotism than I can describe to 
you. Now, the hypnotism of suggestion would, 
in case of need, cure your husband.” 

“ But I don’t believe in it, nor, I am sure, 
does he.” 

“ You may come to believe in it yet. When 
you do, send for me, and I will help you. 
I will do my best for you.” 

Barbara promised, feeling as she did so a 
vague sense of coming trouble. Soon after- 
wards she took her leave and hurried home 
as quickly as she could. 


1 84 On the Brink of a Chasm. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

“ TARBOT WILL TELL ME.” 

When Pelham left his wife he went into the 
Park. It was a foggy evening with frost in 
the air, and the fog was densest in the Park, as 
it always is. He walked under the trees 
watching the gas lamps, which shone feebly 
through the foggy atmosphere. He did not 
heed where he was going, his whole soul was 
absorbed in anxious thought. There were no 
nervous terrors now visible on his face. He 
held himself erect, and walked quickly. After 
a time he stood still under a lamp post, a look 
of resolution and strength visiting his face. 

“Ill do it,” he said to himself. “ 111 do it, 
and I won’t waste another moment. The time 
has come for action, and I will act.” 

He left the Park, walked rapidly to the 
nearest telegraph office and sent a telegram to 
his wife : — 

“ Don’t sit up for me should I be late.— 
Pelham.” 

This being despatched, he walked as fast as 
he could in the direction of Ashley Mansions. 


“Tarbot Will Tell Me." 185 

He ran up the steps of the well-known house 
and rang the bell. 

The old butler smiled with pleasure when 
he saw his face. 

“ My mistress is dining at present, sir; but 
she’ll be sure to see you. This way, Sir 
Richard." 

The man ushered him into the big dining- 
room. It was a somber apartment, with a 
dark, old-fashioned flock paper on the walls 
and heavy moreen curtains to the windows. 
The house was lit throughout with electric 
light, but even that failed to make the room 
look cheerful. A portrait of little Piers done 
by a celebrated painter had the place of honor 
over the mantelpiece. The picture had been 
executed about six months before the child’s 
death. The boy in rich velvet, a Vandyke 
collar surrounding his soft little neck, his dark 
hair flung back from his brow, was standing 
with one arm over the neck of a favorite 
boarhound. He was looking straight out into 
the world with his eager— almost too eager — 
gaze. The eyes, like those in every good 
portrait, followed the inmates of the room. 

As Pelham entered they fixed themselves 
immediately on him. The young man was 
startled. He had forgotten that this speaking 
portrait of Piers existed. His heart gave a 
bound, he looked up at the picture as though 
he meant to say something reassuring to it. 


1 86 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

The sparkling, vivid, lifelike glance continued 
to follow the young man. Mrs. Pelham, who 
was seated at a small table just under the 
picture and close to the fire, rose and went to 
meet him. 

“ Now, Dick, this is nice and friendly,” she 
cried. “Sit down. You’ll have dinner with 
me, won’t you ? ” 

“ I shall be very pleased,” answered Pel- 
ham. 

“ Lay a place at once for Sir Richard,” said 
Mrs. Pelham, turning to the butler. 

The man hurried off to obey. A moment 
latter Pelham was pretending to eat ; inwardly 
he was all on wires. The portrait with its 
speaking eyes oppressed him, he longed to be 
in another room. 

At last the meal came to an end. 

“Serve coffee in the drawing-room,” said 
Mrs. Pelham to the butler. “ Will you come 
this way, Dick ! It is so kind of you to come 
back informally, just like you used to do in the 
old days when dear little Piers was alive.” 

“ I came back because I wanted to ask you 
a question,” said Pelham. 

“ What is it?” asked Mrs. Pelham. 

“ I want to go up to Piers’s nursery.” 

“ Of course you can, my dear fellow ; but 
what for ? ” 

“ Has the room been disarranged since his 
death ? ’ 


“Tarbot Will Tell Me.’’ 187 

“ Put in order, Dick— nothing more. I am 
not going to have that dear room touched, at 
any rate, not for a long time. By and by 
when you have a little son of your own, he 
shall come and stay here and ” 

Mrs. Pelham’s tears flowed. 

“Don’t talk of it, don’t think of it,” said 
Pelham. “ This death has been a frightful 
blow to me. I must tell you what I feel about 
it. There are moments when I am almost 
inclined to shirk the whole thing — to go away. 
I hate the property which has come to me 
through the child’s death.” 

“ It is very good of you to feel like that, but 
you must get over it, Dick — you must really. 
Even though he was my son I cannot let his 
death ruin your life. But now, what to you 
want to go to his room for ? ” 

“ Must I tell you ? ” 

“ Not if you would rather not. Perhaps 
you wish me to give you something to re- 
member him by, and I will with pleasure. 
Shall I come with you ? ” 

“ I would rather go alone, and I will tell 
you quite frankly the reason : I wish to ex- 
amine the boy’s medicine bottles.” 

Mrs. Pelham started back. 

“ What in the world do you mean ? ” she 
exclaimed. 

“ I am dreadfully sorry to distress you,” said 
Pelham, “ but I am particularly anxious to see 


1 88 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

the bottle out of which Piers had his last dose 
of medicine. Is it still upstairs ? ” 

“ It is not. Of course, my dear Dick, I 
would gratify you if I could.” 

I have been anxious for some time to see 
that last bottle of medicine.” 

“Why so?” 

“A nervous man's fears. Don’t ask me 
more.” 

“Your fears, Dick?” 

Mrs. Pelham’s eyes became dilated with a 
queer expression of intense distress. 

“ Don’t think anything about it,” he an- 
swered. “ I am nervous ; and to have that 
special medicine analyzed would set my mind 
at rest. I know that the medicines were always 
kept in a cupboard in the dressing-room. Let 
me go to that cupboard. Give me the key.” 

“ But this is most alarming,” said Mrs. 
Pelham. “I think you must be out of your 
mind.” 

“ Let me have the key of the cupboard.” 

“ The cupboard is open, and the medicines 
have been removed. Dr. Tarbot was here a 
fortnight ago. He asked me to give him the 
key of that special cupboard. He told me 
that there was something peculiar about Piers’s 
death — of course we all know that he died of 
acute heart disease, or something of the sort, 
but Dr. Tarbot was anxious to make copious 
notes of the case, and he had lost one of the 


“ Tarbot Will Tell Me.” 189 

prescriptions. He took all the medicine bottles 
away.” 

While Mrs. Pelham was speaking Dick’s face 
grew hard and gray. 

“If that is the case there is no use in troub- 
ling you,” he said. “ Tarbot will tell me what 
I desire’ to know. Good night.” 


IQO 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“ ‘ SCOUNDREL ! ’ HE SAID.’’ 

When Pelham left the house in Ashley 
Mansions it was not yet ten o’clock. He 
paused for a moment on the pavement to look 
at his watch and consult with himself. The 
result of his brief thought was that he turned 
with resolute steps in the direction of Harley 
Street. Ten minutes after he left Ashley Man- 
sions he was ringing the bell of Luke Tarbot’s 
house. The door was opened, he asked if the 
doctor was in. The servant replied in the 
affirmative. 

“ What name shall I say ? ” he asked. 

“ Say that Sir Richard Pelham wishes to 
speak to Dr. Tarbot for a moment.” 

Sir Richard was asked to step into the hall, 
and the servant went hurriedly into a room 
which opened on to the hall at the left side. 
The next moment Tarbot came out to meet 
Dick and to welcome him. 

“ Come in, Sir Richard,” he said. “ I am 


“ ‘ Scoundrel ! ’ He Said.” 


191 

very glad to see you. Do you mind joining 
me in my smoking-den ? I can give you an 
excellent cigar and a hearty welcome.” 

Tarbot's manner was cordial. The two men 
entered the smoking-room. Pelham -declined 
a cigar. His manner was full of reserve, and 
intensely gloomy. Tarbot saw at a glance that 
he intended to make himself disagreeable. He 
gave his guest one very keen flash out of his 
deeply set eyes, and immediately afterwards 
put on his most guarded manner. 

It had been the lot of the great surgeon to 
see all sorts and conditions of men. For years 
now he had read the human countenance in 
its intricate and many phases. He saw that 
Dick was much troubled and desperate. This 
was no call of mere politeness. But it was not 
Tarbot’s cue to take the initiative, and he 
waited for his guest to speak. 

“ I have come here to-night. Dr. Tarbot, to 
ask you a special question.” 

“What may that be ? ” asked Tarbot. 

“ Have I to thank you for a very unpleasant 
rumor which is afloat with regard to me in my 
dub ? ” 

“ You must explain yourself. I do not 
understand.” 

“ It is this. It is known in the club that I 
signed a post obit a fortnight before the death 
of my little cousin.” 

Tarbot slightly shifted his position. 


192 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


“ I did not know that the rumor had got 
afloat,” he said. “I am certainly innocent of 
propagating it. But are you sure it is known ? ” 

“Yes. I was first told of it by Carroll, 
whom I met at the hotel at Glion, where my 
wife and I stayed. He begged me to return 
to London as quickly as possible in order to 
contradict the gossip which was afloat. I did 
come back, and I find on my arrival that mat- 
ters are even more unpleasant than I had be- 
lieved possible.” 

Tarbot laughed. 

“ How the rumor got about is more than I 
can tell you,” he replied. “I can only assure 
you once more that I am not responsible. I 
should naturally wish to hide a matter in which 
I myself am implicated. You understand, 
Pelham, that it affects me as much as you. 
My advice to you is this : don’t take the slight- 
est notice. Live it down — there is nothing 
in it.” 

“ It is unpleasant and undesirable,” said 
Dick, “ and the man who has caused it to be 
spread is my enemy.” 

“Then find him,” said Tarbot lightly. 
“ Find him, and vent your spleen upon him. 
Will you change your mind and have a cigar ? 
I can recommend this brand.” 

“No, thank you. I only smoke with my 
friends.” 

“ What am I to understand by that ? ” asked 


“ ‘ Scoundrel ! ’ He Said.” 193 

Tarbot. As he spoke he looked Dick full in 
the face. 

“ I thought we were friends,” continued 
Tarbot after a moment’s pause. 

“ No,” answered Dick. “ I must be frank 
at a moment like the present. I dislike you. 
Dr. Tarbot. I have an antipathy to you — what 
is more, I distrust you.” 

“ You must give me a reason for those last 
words. Why do you distrust me ? ” 

“ I intend to speak fully. The child's death 
has distressed me much. Yesterday I got a 
copy of the certificate.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because I am not satisfied with the reason 
you gave for the death.” 

“ Did you ever qualify as a medical man ? ” 

“ Never ; but I use my common sense, and 
I repeat that I am not satisfied with the reason 
you gave for the death.” 

“Why?” 

“You state that the boy died from heart 
disease.” 

“ He did— from aortic disease.” 

“ But I say that he never had heart disease. 
I knew him well, almost from his birth. He 
was delicate, but he had no organic complaint 
of any sort. It is just possible that disease of 
the heart may be developed within a fortnight, 
but on that point I should like to ask the opin- 
ion of another doctor.” 

13 


194 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ Why so ? Is not my word as good as 
another’s ? Such instances are rare, but not 
impossible.’’ 

Pelham was silent. 

“ Go on,” said Tarbot after a pause. “ Say 
all that is in your mind. You have gone too 
far now to draw back. Your impression is 
that the child did not die of heart disease. 
You at least admit that he is dead ?” 

“Heaven help me, yes.” 

“That being the case, what did he die of ?” 

“ I cannot tell you. I wish I could.” 

“Is it your impression that he came by his 
death unduly ? ” 

“ I have harbored such a suspicion.” 

“ Whom do you suspect ? ” 

Pelham’s face flushed, but his eyes looked 
straight into Tarbot’s. 

“ Perhaps you can answer that,” he replied ; 
“ but whatever the cause of death, I wish to 
have all the circumstances relating to the 
child’s last illness closely investigated.” 

“ I do not know what more you can do. I 
signed the certificate. I am ready to abide by 
my decision. I certified that Piers Pelham 
died from aortic disease. My opinion was 
corroborated by Dr. Williamson and Sir 
Richard Spears. In what position are you that 
you place your opinion against three such 
authorities ? ” 

“ I am in no position whatever, but still I 


“ ‘ Scoundrel ! * He Said.” 195 

hold my own thoughts, and I wish to have 
something done.” 

“ What ?” 

“ To have the medicine which the boy last 
took analyzed.” 

“ Talking of that,” said Tarbot, “ don’t for- 
get that you yourself gave that last dose of 
medicine to the boy. You went to fetch the 
bottle, you took the medicine to the child, he 
received it from your hands.” 

“ True, but what of that ?” 

“ Much or little according to circumstances.” 

“ I do not understand you,” said Pelham. 
“ It matters little who gave the medicine to 
the child. I wish to have it analyzed. Noth- 
ing else will set my mind at rest. I have just 
been to Mrs. Pelham’s house for the purpose 
of securing the bottle, but I find that you fore- 
stalled me, and that you have the medicine in 
your own keeping.” 

“ I have.” 

“ What do you want it for ? ” 

“To have it analyzed.” 

“Then you agree with me ?” said Dick 
eagerly. 

“ I don’t agree with you, but because I am 
taking copious notes of Sir Piers Pelham’s 
death I wish to have the medicine analyzed.” 

“ Can you do it ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Will you do it now ? ” 


196 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ No.” 

“What if I compel you ?” 

“ Compel me ! My good fellow, you are 
talking nonsense.” 

Pelham was fast losing his self-control : he 
leaped forward and seized Tarbot by the arm. 

“Scoundrel ! ” he said. “Notwithstanding 
that certificate, I have my reasons for suspect- 
ing you. Analyze that medicine at once be- 
fore my eyes, or, by heaven. Til have you in 
a court of justice.” 

“ You must be mad, Pelham,” said Tarbot 
calmly. “ I will analyze the medicine, cer- 
tainly, but at my own good time and pleasure. 
Now leave the house. Your words are insult- 
ing. You forget yourself. Too great a portion 
of this world's riches has overbalanced your 
brain. I have heard of such cases before. 
When you can exercise self-control I will speak 
to you again.” 


The Price of His Sin. 


197 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE PRICE OF HIS SIN. 

Pelham never quite remembered how he 
got into the street. He was only conscious of 
having completely lost his self-control, of a 
mad whirl of emotions, which deprived him, 
for the moment, of all ordinary sense and 
prudence. A loathing for the man with whom 
he had been conversing, a certainty that there 
was a real foundation for his appalling fears, 
both combined to overbalance a brain already 
strained to the utmost. When the cold night 
air, however, blew on his heated forehead he 
quickly recovered himself, and seeing that he 
could do nothing further went home. 

Having seen Pelham out, Tarbot returned 
to his smoking-room. There was a grim de- 
termination about his thin lips and a frown 
between his brows — thought was working hard 
in his active brain. After a short time given 
to reflection, he knocked the ashes out of 
his pipe, laid it in its accustomed place on 
the mantelpiece, turned off the electric light 
and went up-stairs. 


igS On the Brink of a Chasm. 

He entered the drawing-room. He knew 
that here he should find the woman he had 
lately married. He found her stretched in an 
easy-chair beside the fire. Her hands were 
lying idly in her lap, her eyes were shut — she 
was fast asleep. Tarbot had always a quiet 
tread. He now advanced almost on tiptoe 
and stood looking down at her. 

“The price I have paid for my sin,” he mut- 
tered under his breath. 

He drew a chair forward and softly seated 
himself. The’ woman was unconscious of his 
presence, and he could look at her ; he could 
fill his soul with loathing of her, and drink 
the cup which he had prepared for his own 
lips to the dregs. His face was white as he 
gazed at Clara. She did not look well in her 
sleep. There were haggard lines round her 
lips — lines which had come far too soon, for 
she was still quite a young woman. Her 
cheeks were hollow, she coughed now and 
then. Her dead-white complexion, with its 
disfiguring freckles, gave her face the look of 
the dead. 

“ Would she were dead ! ” muttered Tarbot. 

“ Would she were ” 

From the face he looked down at the hands, • 
the arms, the outlines of the thin limbs. i 

“ There is a certain grace about her,” hjg 
said to himself, “ but it is the grace of the [ 
panther, the tigress. If I married another | 


The Price of His Sin. 


199 


woman now I should commit bigamy. I could 
curse her.” He bent a little nearer, and then 
a queer and eager light began to grow in his 
eyes. 

“ I believe it is true,” he said to himself. 
He rose softly, left the room, and returned 
with his stethoscope. Clara’s dress was partly 
open at the thin neck. With the delicate 
hand of the practised surgeon, he was able to 
apply the stethoscope to her chest without 
rousing her. He listened attentively, not 
making a thorough examination of her lungs, 
but one sufficient for his purpose. 

“ It is too true,” he muttered. He let the 
lace fall back over her heaving chest, and 
looked at her again. The woman stirred in 
her sleep. Her long training as a nurse 
had accustomed her to wake up bright and 
alert. Tarbot put the stethoscope in his 
pocket. Clara opened her eyes and started 
upright. 

“ I am very sorry I slept,” she said. “ Have 
you been long here ? Shall I ring for coffee 
— the servants have not yet gone to bed ? ” 

“ No, thanks. I want to talk to you, Clara. 
Are you wide awake ? Can you attend to 
me ? ” 

“ Certainly. I am very wide awake. I have 
had my little nap. I do not need more sleep 
to-night — that is, if you really wish to speak 
to me.” 


200 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ I want to say something, but I shall not 
keep you long.” 

“ Have you been in the room many min- 
utes?" 

“ Two or three.” 

“ You were seated here close to me, looking 
at me ?” 

“ Aye, I looked at you. By the way, Clara, 
I wish you would not wear those diamonds 
every night." 

“ Why not ? Do you object ? " 

“I do. It is bad form. You are not go- 
ing out anywhere. Only a parvenu would 
load herself with jewels in the way you do. 
You coughed, too, in your sleep, and when 
you did I noticed the diamonds. Do you ever 
feel ill, or tired, or weary ?" 

“ Of late I have done so from time to 
time.” 

“ I thought as much. I must send you to 
a warmer climate, but we will talk of that later 
on. You cannot leave England at present. 
You are useful to me.” 

“ I know that, Luke. I am glad to be use- 
ful to you.” 

“Then take care of yourself, and don’t go 
out too much at night. By the way, does that 
cough hurt ? ” 

“A little. Why?” 

“ I will only tell you that you ought to be 
careful. A cough is a thing no one should 


The Price of His Sin. 201 

trifle with. Your mother is alive, I think I 
heard you say ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Is your father ?” 

“No.” 

“What did your father die of?” 

“ Consumption. ‘ Galloping consumption ’ 
they called it down in Cornwall.” 

“Ah, I see!” 

Clara’s eyes began to dilate with a sort of 
error. Tarbot looked away from her. 

“We won’t talk any more of your health 
now,” he said after a pause. “ We will get to 
business.” 

She gave him a pleading glance, and then 
with a heavy sigh lowered her eyes. 

“ I am all attention,” she said. 

“ Pelham has been here,” said Tarbot. 

“ Is he here now?” 

“ No ; I turned him out.” 

“ Good Heavens, Luke ! Why ?” 

Because he insulted me.” 

“What do you mean ?” 

“ To all intents and purposes, he accused 
me of the murder of Sir Piers Pelham.” 

“ Nonsense 1 He accused you 1 Why 
should he think any foul play had taken place ? 
Impossible ! ” 

“ Nevertheless it is true. The man is an 
utter fool. I always thought him so, but I 
find there is a bit of the knave in him as well. 


202 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

He maintains that the child did not come by 
his death by ordinary means. He is moving 
heaven and earth in this cursed business. 
Clara, it is full time for us to be up and stir- 
ring.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

She had risen from her chair, her thin hands 
worked convulsively, the rings on her fingers 
flashed. 

“ I hate all that finery,” said the man irri- 
tably. “I repeat, that your wearing it is bad 
form. Now listen to me. Pelham must be 
arrested in a fortnight for the murder of his 
cousin ! ” 

“ No, Luke, no, it cannot be.” 

“ It shall be, Clara.” 

“ I forbid it,” said the woman. “ It is not 
in the bargain,” she continued. She brought 
out her words with almost a stutter — she was 
trembling so hard. “ It is not in the bar- 
gain,” she repeated. “ Six months was the 
bargain, six months after marriage. I for 
bid you to deal the blow a day before the 
time.” 

“ You must be mad, Clara. You must see 
for yourself that circumstances change. If I 
do not have Pelham arrested he will turn the 
tables on me. Oh, I know I am safe enough, 
but I cannot afford delay. Who would have 
thought that Pelham, a sleepy sort of fel- 
low ” 


The Price of His Sin. 203 

“ An alert lawyer, you mean,” interrupted 
Clara. 

“ Ah, you think so'! He fascinates you.” 

“ He is an innocent man and a good man,” 
replied Mrs. Tarbot. “ I like him well be- 
cause he loved that child, because when the 
child died Mr. Pelham had a sense, not of re- 
joicing, but of sorrow. He is a good man, 
and when you strike him you do a fiendish 
deed. Give it up, Luke, give it up, and I will 
serve you to my dying day.” 

“ Give it up I But I married you for the 
sake of it.” 

“ Aye,J know that. Then you are inexor- 
able ? ” 

He made no reply. He was taller than his 
wife, and he was looking down at her. The 
expression in his eyes caused her to turn aside. 

“ I forgot for a moment,” she said at last 
slowly, “ that I had united myself to a devil.” 

“ Think me one if you will,” replied Tarbot. 
“ Upon my word, I would rather you thought 
me a devil than a saint — it is less mawkisk. 
Bah 1 when I remember that I married you 
for better for worse, till death us do part, I can 
scarcely contain myself.” 

Tarbot walked to the other end of the room. 
When he came back a new expression had 
come over Clara’s face. All sentiment had 
died out of it — it was hard and shrewd and 
businesslike as his own. 


204 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“Well,” he said^“you look better now. I 
have much to say. Sit down at this table and 
I will place myself opposite to you.” 

She did what he told her. 

“ Begin,” she said. “What have you to tell 
me ?” 

“ First of all, I shall analyze that medicine. 
I shall, of course, discover the hyocene. I will 
acquaint Mrs. Pelham with the fact, and get 
her to take the necessary steps to have Pelham 
arrested.” 

“When do you propose that he shall be 
arrested ? ” 

“ This is Thursday, and he goes to Pelham 
Towers on Saturday. The arrest can take 
place in the course of next week.” 

“ Suppose it does,” said Clara slowly : “ what 
will happen next ? ” 

“ He will be brought back to London and 
examined before the magistrate of the district 
in which little Piers died. Your evidence and 
mine will do the rest.” 

“ My evidence ? ” said Clara. 

“ Of course. You will have to prove that 
you gave Pelham the medicine, and that you 
remained in the dressing-room while he ad- 
ministered it to the boy. What is the matter 
with you to-night ? Why do you hesitate and 
look so queer ? If at the last moment you turn 
traitress, you shall ” 

The man did not finish the sentence, but 


The Price of His Sin. 205 

there came a look into his eyes which caused 
Clara’s heart to sink. 

“ I will fulfil my part of the bargain. I will 
keep my word,” she said at last slowly. 

“That’s right. Now you are returning to 
your senses.” 

“But you must also keep your part,” she 
continued. “ The promises you made were 
these : I was to become your wife, and Sir 
Richard Pelham was to be unmolested for six 
months.” 

“ I remember quite well that you made that 
a condition,” said Tarbot. “ It always seemed 
to me an unnecessary and foolish one, but 
until to-night I never considered it carefully. 
Circumstances alter matters. In a case like this 
we cannot adhere strictly to a bargain. We 
are both in danger — in extreme danger — we 
have to fight, remember, for our lives.” 

“ True,” she answered. She lowered her 
eyes, to raise them the next moment and fix 
them on her husband’s face. 

“ Pelham must be arrested next week,” re- 
peated Tarbot. 

“ No, no, Luke ! Not so soon.” 

“ Clara, my word must be law in this matter. 
When our lives are in jeopardy we cannot 
afford to play the fool for a matter of mere 
sentiment. I tell you, if I do not have Pel- 
ham arrested he will turn the tables on 


me. 


2 o 6 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ He will not, for his fears will soon be over. 
His apprehensions will sink out of sight, he 
will go down to his property and be a happy 
man.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ If, Luke, I can quiet all Sir Richard Pel- 
ham’s suspicions, will you delay the evil mo- 
ment ? ” 

“ I don’t understand what you are talking 
about.” 

“ Nor can I explain ; but I think I shall suc- 
ceed. Now go on — what will happen after Sir 
Richard has been before the magistrate ? ” 

“He will be remanded, in order that the 
Home Secretary may give an order for the ex- 
humation of the child’s body.” 

Clara turned whiter than ever. She trem- 
bled all over. 

“ What is the matter with you ? ” said her 
husband. “ You are not the woman you were 
a few months ago. If I had known that I was 
really about to unite myself to such a vacillat- 
ing, poor, weak — what is wrong ? ” 

“ Nothing. I trembled because I suddenly 
thought of the ace of trumps.” 

“ The ace of trumps ! Good heavens ! Are 
you mad ? ” 

“ No, Luke, I am sane — quite sane. I only 
remembered that I hold the ace of trumps in 
my hand, and therefore I have no real cause 
for fear. You will be obliged to do what 


The Price of His Sin. 


207 


I wish. You must not have Sir Richard ar- 
rested next week— not for a month or two 
months.” 

“ Let it be a bargain, then,” said Tarbot. 
“Provided Pelham does not go to extremities, 
provided his present suspicions are lulled 
to rest, I am willing to let the matter lie 
over until Christmas. Will that content 
you ? ” 

“It is better than nothing,” said Clara very 
slowly. 

“ But remember the condition. His suspi- 
cions about me must die out, or at least they 
must not be acted upon.” 

“ I think I shall succeed,” said Clara. 

“ Well, it is a bargain then. I am go- 
ing to analyze the medicine now. Good 
night.” 

Tarbot rose, and a moment later left the 
room. Clara stood where he had left her. 
One of her thin hands drummed on the little 
table near which she was standing. Her 
thoughts were very busy. After a time she 
rose and went to her secretary. She took out 
a sheet of headed notepaper and envelope, and 
sitting down wrote a note. This note was to 
Barbara Pelham. 

“ Dear Lady Pelham,— The advice I gave 
you to-day I want to enforce by a letter. I have 
thought much of you since your visit. Your 


2o8 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

husband is in a highly nervous condition, but 
he has no cause whatever for his fears. Why 
should he not set them completely at rest by 
doing as I suggest, and asking the opinions of 
Dr. Williamson and Sir Richard Spears ? He 
might also go to the chemist and get a copy of 
the prescription of the last medicine given to 
the child. Would you suggest this to him 
without bringing my name into the matter? 
After receiving the information which he will 
doubtless get from the two great specialists 
and from the chemist, if his fears still remain, 
please communicate with me, for I can give 
him a treatment which will assuredly put him 
into a healthier frame of mind. I would rather 
not use this last remedy unless essential. 

“Yours, with much sympathy, 

“ Clara Tarbot.” 

Having written the letter, Clara herself went 
out to post it. The servants had gone to bed. 
She wrapped a shawl round her head and 
walked quickly down Harley Street. She 
slipped the letter into the pillar box and re- 
turned home. Her mind was comparatively 
at rest. She had just reached her hall door 
when a hand was laid on her arm. She turned 
round quickly. 

“ Well, Clara, well ! And so you were about 
to cut your own mother.” 

“ Mother,” cried Clara with a start, “ What 


The Price of His Sin. 209 

have you come to town for ? What is the 
matter ? Anything wrong ? ” 

“ Nothing, Clara, nothing. Fve only come 
to talk to you. I am coming into your house, 
into your grand house. I don’t care about 
your grandeur, but I’m coming in to see you, 
for I’ve got something to say.” 

“Come in, of course, mother. I shall be 
delighted to welcome you. Come up-stairs to 
the drawing-room.” 

Clara closed the hall door, and walked up 
the grand staircase accompanied by her 
mother. They entered the drawing-room, the 
little woman immediately dropping a curtsey. 

“ A mercy me ! ” she cried. “A deal of rugs 
and curtains and fine furniture all over the 
place, but the air smothering to the breathing 
all the same. Clara, I came to say that the 
child ” 

“If you want to talk on private matters, 
mother, we had better go to my bedroom. 
You will sleep here, of course.” 

“ No, I have a lodging outside. I couldn’t 
have a wink of sleep in a grand sort o’ place 
like this, but I have come to say ” 

“ Wc will talk in my bedroom, mother.” 


210 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


CHAPTER XXL 
“honor bright.” 

Clara took her mother to her bedroom. 
A bright fire glowed in the grate, the bed 
was turned down, and everything looked soft, 
luxurious, and the very height of luxury. 

“ A deary me ! ” said the old woman again 
— she dropped two curtseys — one to the bed 
and another to the fire. “ I never held with 
grandeur. It’s all very well for them as was 
born to it, but folks like you and me. Clary, 
we ain’t meant to have it, and it don’t agree 
with us. Why, you’re the color of a duck’s 
egg in complexion now, and your freckles 
seem to have spread.” 

“Oh, mother, what do you want?” said 
Clara. “ What have you come about ? ” 

“Aye, aye, that’s the mystery,” said little 
Mrs. Ives, her small eyes dancing. 

“ Is there anything wrong with the child ?” 

“ You’ll hear in a minute, my deary dear. 
Oh, I’ll sit near you if you wish, but not close 
to the fire— it shrivels up the complexion, and 
it’s making you as green as can be.” 


“ Honor Bright.” 21 1 

“What have you got to say?” exclaimed 
Mrs. Tarbot. She had great difficulty in re- 
straining herself from using angry words. 

“You was always one for your tempers, 
Clara. But never mind, I has come to say ” 

“What, mother?” 

“ That I have brought the child back to 
London.” 

“ And why, may I ask ? ” 

“ Because he wished to see the place where 
he was accustomed to live, and why should I 
fret him — the dear lamb ?” 

“ Where have you taken him ? You know 
I gave up my rooms in Brand’s Buildings.” 

“ I ain’t gone back there. I has took a nice 
lodging for myself and the boy at 30 Hester 
Street, just over the way.” 

“You ought not to have done it, mother.” 

“The child was restless,” continued the old 
woman. “ He’s a bonny boy, and I ain’t got 
his secret out of him, but I very near have. 
I thought it best to come and tell you, and you 
had better come round and have a look at him 
in the morning.” 

“ I’ll come now,” said Clara. “ You wait a 
minute. I must look into this matter directly.” 

She went to her wardrobe, opened it, and 
took out an old bonnet which she had not 
worn since her marriage, and also a long cloak. 

“ Can’t you wait till the morning ? ” said the 
mother. 


212 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ No ; I have other things to attend to then. 
I’ll come with you now.” 

The old woman made no further objection. 
Clara opened the door of her bedroom and, 
accompanied by Mrs. Ives, went down-stairs. 
The servants had gone to bed, for the hour 
was nearly midnight. Mrs. Tarbot took a latch- 
key from a hook in the hall, and slipped it into 
her pocket ; then she opened the door and 
went out. 

The two women did not take long in reach- 
ing No. 30 Hester Street. Most of the lights 
in the house were out, but in reply to their 
ring a woman with a dirty dress and red 
face opened the door. Mrs. Ives nodded to 
her. 

“I’m bringing a friend of mine to see the 
little gentleman,” she said. 

The woman made no response, and Clara 
and Mrs. Ives went up-stairs together. 

“You should not speak of me as a friend of 
yours, mother,” said Clara in a whisper as they 
were going up. 

“ And why not ? If my own darter ain’t a 
friend, I don’t know who is. I were very near 
saying, I ha’ brought my darter to see the 
little boy, but out of respect for your ladyship 
I said friend. Now here we be.” 

They paused on the third landing, and Mrs. 
Ives opened the door and went in. Clara 
followed her. The room was small and shabby. 


“ Honor Bright.” 213 

“ You ought not to have taken the boy to a 
place of this sort,” said Mrs. Tarbot. 

“Why not? You never told me that he 
come of gentle folk.” 

“ You might have guessed that for yourself. 
The child must be well taken care of. He 
can’t stay here.” 

“ That’s for you to settle, Clary. In London 
the child wishes to be, and in London he 
must be.” 

“ Mother, when you talk like that you aggra- 
vate me past bearing.” 

Mrs. Ives walked across the sitting-room 
and threw open the door of the bedroom. 

“ Don’t you go and wake him,” she said. 
“ He’s strong now — brown as a nut and as hand- 
some as a picture. Come along, we’ll have a 
look at him.” 

Mrs. Ives lit a capdle and they went into 
the bedroom. The boy was lying on a small 
bed which had been made up in a corner of 
the room. Clara bent over him. 

The child in his sleep looked like an angel. 
Once he stirred, and when he did so that thing 
within her which no one else had ever brought 
to life began to make itself apparent. Her 
feeling for Tarbot was passion, but her feeling 
for the boy was love, pure and holy. 

“ Hush, hush ! don’t wake him,” she said ; 
but her words came too late. The old woman 
made a hasty movement, knocking over a little 


214 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

table as she did so. The boy started in his 
sleep, opened his eyes and looked full at Clara. 

“ I am so glad you have come back again,’' 
he cried. The next instant his soft arms were 
round her neck, and she felt his kisses on her 
thin cheek. 

“I’m so glad you have come back,” he re- 
peated, “ and I have kept it — I have really. 
It’s wonderful, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Dear little Piers,” said Clara. 

“Are you going to stay with me ? I’d like 
it awfully ; I have a lot of things I want to talk 
to you about. You know all my secrets, and 
it would be a real comfort to talk to you. 
Please, grannie (nurse, I always call your 
mother ‘ grannie ’), please, grannie, go out of 
the room. I want to say things to my nurse 
— oh, I forgot, you don’t want me to call you 
‘ nurse ’ any more, do you ? ” 

“ I don’t mind, Piers ; you may call me 
‘nurse’ if you like. I’ll stay with you for a 
little. Mother, you can go into the sitting- 
room.” 

“ Oh, can I ? Seems tome I’m hustled about 
to please everybody but myself,” said the old 
woman. “All right. I’ll go. You don’t mind 
if I leave the door ajar, do you ? ” 

“ Please shut it, mother, and don’t bother.” 
“ Oh, I’m a bother, am I ? Your temper 
gets worse and Worse, Clara. But I’m going. 
I’m going.” 


“ Honor Bright.” 215 

She left the room, shutting the door noisily. 

“ She’s very cross with you,” said little Piers. 
“ But she’s not cross with me, and I love her 
awfully.” 

I am glad of that, dear.” 

“ I went with grannie this morning to look 
at my real home,” continued Piers. “ I didn’t 
tell her which house it was, but I stared at it, 
and p’r’aps she saw the direction my eyes were 
looking in. I did so long to run across and 
ring the bell and rush up to mother and hug 
her, but I didn’t because I had promised you. 
Honor bright, you know, honor bright.” 

“ Yes, honor bright. Piers,” said 'Mrs. Tarbot. 
Her brows were knit, and she was gazing anx- 
iously across the little room. Her mind was 
full of perplexity and dread. 

“ I want to see mother so dreadfully,” con- 
tinued the child. “ I dream of her at night, 
and I want to see Dick. It’s strange they 
don’t any of them write. When may I go back 
to them, nurse ? ” 

“ Piers, I am sorry, but I must disappoint you. 
You’ll be a brave lad, I know.” 

“Yes, I’ll be brave, but what do you want 
to disappoint me about ?” 

“ I have some sad news for you.” 

“ Sad ? ” 

“You cannot go* back to your mother. 
Piers.” 

“ Why?” 


2i6 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


“ And you must not go into the street where 
she used to live ; you must not stand any 
more outside the house.” 

“ But why ? ” 

“ Because your mother is not there.” 

“What do you mean ? ” 

“ She has gone away for the present, and your 
Cousin Dick and your friend Barbara have also 
gone away. They will come back by and by 
— by and by when you are really cured— but 
it takes a long time to cure a little chap who 
has been as ill as you have been. You 
would not like to sink down through the 
floor any more, would you ? ” 

“ Don’t you think you’re just a little bit of a 
humbug ? ” said Piers, gazing full into Mrs. 
Tarbot’s face. “ Why do you talk in that way, 
just as if you had made it up, and why do you 
turn your eyes away ? I don’t think mother 
can have gone away, and I’m sure Dick and 

Barbara must be here, because ” 

“ Is it likely Fd tell you a lie. Piers ? ’’ 

“ Well, of course I hope you wouldn’t, but 
I’m not sure. I suppose you wouldn’t, that is, 
if you are a good woman. Are you a good 
woman, nurse ? ” 

“ No, child, no. Heaven help me, no, I’m 
not.” 

“ Then perhaps you do tell lies. Of course, 
good women never do. God hates those who 
tell them, so you had better be careful. I 


“ Honor Bright.” 


217 


never tell lies, and that’s why I keep my prom- 
ise to you. I never tell grannie my secret.” 

“If you had done so, Piers, you would have 
been an awfully wicked little boy. You must 
never, never tell Mrs. Ives the truth.” 

“ I won’t, because I promised, but why do 
you call her Mrs. Ives ? She’s your mother 
— you do forget your fifth commandment. 
Well, now I’ll tell you something she says. 
Every morning the first thing when she gets 
up she says, ‘ Piers, blood is thicker than 
water ; but. Piers,’ she goes on, ‘ there is some 
as has water in their veins instead of blood.’ 
I don’t know what she means by that, nurse, 
unless she’s talking about you ; but you haven’t 
water in your veins instead of blood, have 
you ? ” 

“No, dear, my mother could not have meant 
me. She’s an old woman, and she’s given to 
talking nonsense.” 

“There you are, forgetting your fifth com- 
mandment again. I tell you I like her very 
much. She’s not quite as handsome as you, 
but I think perhaps she’s a better woman than 
you are. She never tells a lie.” 

“ Piers, you are talking nonsense, and I am 
angry.” 

“ Angry ? ” said the child. 

“Yes, because you talk nonsense. You 
ought to be satisfied and to trust me. Your 
own mother and your Cousin Dick and your 


2i8 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


friend Barbara are far away. Some day, if you 
are really good, you will see them again, that 
is, if you trust me ; if not ” 

“ If not ? ’’ queried the child. 

“Then, Piers, I shall have to take you away 
from my mother, and put you with some one 
else, who will be stern and who won’t listen to 
any nonsense you may talk. I don’t wish to 
threaten you, dear little man, for I love you, 
but I shall have to do it if you go on as you 
are doing.” 

“ And I have been brave,” said the boy, his 
brown eyes filling with tears. He clasped his 
hands and looked straight before him. “ I 
have never told,” he continued. “ Each morn- 
ing when I wake I ask God to help me to keep 
my secret and not to let me tell a lie. All dur- 
ing the day it’s on the tip of my tongue to say, 

‘ I’m Sir Piers Pelham, and my mother lives 
at No. 12 Ashley Mansions, and my Cousin 
Dick, his other name is Pelham, and my friend 
Barbara, her other name is Evershed.’ It’s 
always and always on the tip of my tongue. 
But I don’t say any of these things because I 
promised you I wouldn’t. Oh, it’s hard of you 
to say that you are angry with me. I am a 
brave boy, and I wouldn’t tell a lie for the 
world.” 

“ You’re a perfect darling,” said Clara, over- 
come by the beauty of the child and the magic 
of his words. She lifted him out of bed and 


‘‘ Honor Bright.” 219 

held him in her arms, cuddling him close to 
her, until at last he fell asleep with his head 
on her breast. 

“ I would almost die for him,” she thought. 
“ Some day he shall come into his own again ; 
but not yet— not at present. I have Luke to 
think of. I have almost given up hope of 
winning Luke’s heart, but I may succeed yet. 
If so, little Piers, you must keep your secret 
for a long, long time.” 


220 


On the Brink of a Chasm 


CHAPTER XXII. 

“ YOUR EYES ARE BIG AND BRIGHT.” 

When the boy was sound asleep Clara went 
into the room where her mother was waiting 
for her. 

“ Well, Clary, and how do you think he is ? ” 

“ Splendid, mother. You have taken excel- 
lent care of him, but you must go back with 
him to Cornwall to-morrow.” 

“ He don’t like it ; he’s mad to come back 
to his own folk. Why should he stay away 
from them ? ” 

“ If he goes back you’ll lose your two 
pounds a week.” 

“ Aye, there’s summat in that,” said the old 
woman. 

“ I love my bit of money,” she continued 
after a pause. “ I don’t believe in no bankses. 
I has my money in an old stocking at the back 
of the chimney. I has got a hundred and fifty 
pounds. When are we’ to go back. Clary ?” 

“ By the first train to-morrow. It is sheer 
madness of you to stay here. If you do such 
a thing again I must take the boy away and put 


“Your Eyes are Big and Bright.” 221 

him in the care of some one else, but I would 
rather he were with you, mother.” 

“ You may as well leave him with me. Fll 
look after him and tend him, and he loves 
me.” 

“ Well, mother, here’s five pounds over and 
above what I generally give. This will be 
plenty for your fare and the boy’s back to 
Cornwall, and I will send you three pounds a 
week in the future if you will look after him 
well.” 

Three pounds a week?” said the old 
woman. “That’s twelve pounds a month — a 
deal of money — a deal ! I’ll look after him a 
bit longer then. Clary, but don’t try me too 
much, for I can’t abear his little cry of ‘ I’ve a 
secret, but you mustn’t guess ; and if you knew 
who my people were you’d take me home, 
wouldn’t you, grannie ? ’ That’s his little cry, 
and he’s such a grand, brave little chap. I 
don’t know what you’re after, but it’s evil, I 
make no doubt. You ain’t my sort— you don’t 
go to your chapel reg’lar, and you don’t say 
your prayers reg’lar And duck green is your 
complexion, and your freckles is spreading. 
Now I’ll say good night, for if you ain’t tired 
I am.” 

Mrs. Ives held up her mouth as she spoke 
to Clara’s sallow cheek. The daughter scarcely 
returned her salutation. Wrapped in thought 
she left the house. She ran down-stairs and 


222 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

let herself out, returning to the house in Har- 
ley Street some time after one o’clock. As she 
stood on the steps fumbling for her latch-key, 
her husband confronted her. 

“ Where have you been ? ” he asked. 

“ To see an old patient.” 

“ I thought you had given up nursing.” 

“ I had a message from an old patient who 
wished particularly to see me — a message which 
I could not refuse.” 

“ Your mother brought it to you, didn’t 
she ? ” 

“ How did you know my mother was here, 
Luke ? ” 

“ I saw you go out with her. What did she 
come about ? ” 

“ I have just told you she brought a message 
from a patient, Luke. I did not know you 
were curious.” 

“ I am not the least curious,” he replied. 
“ To be curious signifies an interest in a per- 
son. As I do not take the slightest interest in 
you I am not curious. Now, I have much to 
do, and will wish you good night.” 

“ Good night,” she answered. Husband and 
wife parted in the hall. Clara went very slowly 
up the broad flight of stairs. When she reached 
the first landing she turned and looked back 
at Tarbot, he on his part looking up at her. 
The look she gave him back in return was full 
of an undefined and curious expression. It 


“Your Eyes are Big and Bright.” 223 

puzzled the man, and he thought it over a good 
bit as he sat in his study. 

“If I did not know that it was quite im- 
possible,” he said to himself, “ I should say 
that my wife, the woman to whom I have 
given my name, for whom I have ruined my- 
self, holds some secret against me. What did 
she niean when she spoke of having the ace of 
trumps in her hand ? If Clara turns against 
me I shall be lost. I hate her, but I must keep 
friendly with her, that’s evident. She would 
be faithful to me — poor soul !~if she thought 
I had the least vestige of love for her. Can I 
feign what she wants and so get that ace of 
trumps from her ? Shall I try ? ” 

He sat with his head buried in his hands for 
some time, but as the night advanced he paced 
the room restlessly. 

Clara also scarcely slept that night. Early 
in the morning she rose and went to her hus- 
band. He was still in his study. 

Clara was dressed with care, and notwith- 
standing her sleepless night looked trim and 
fresh. As usual, she wore black ; soft real 
lace encircled her thin white throat, and her 
head, with its crown of red hair, looked some- 
thing like a tropical flower. She was a grace- 
ful woman, and the dress she now wore gave 
her a special charm. 

To Tarbot, who had been experimenting, 
analyzing, thinking hard, who was almost worn 


224 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

out in consequence, she suddenly appeared as 
almost a vision of beauty. 

He looked up as she entered, carrying a 
little tray. It contained tea and toast. With 
a flash of quick thought he remembered afresh 
her expression of the night before — that she 
held the ace of trumps in her hand. He knew 
that if he could give her any affection she 
would be his forever. At that moment, with 
this thought in his head, she was almost attrac- 
tive to him. 

“You should not stay up all night,” she 
said. “I have brought you this. Sit down 
and let me pour you out a cup of tea.” 

He sank into the nearest chair. She poured 
out the tea, putting in the amount of sugar and 
cream that he liked. She brought the fragrant 
cup to his side, and buttering a piece of toast, 
put it on a plate and laid it on a little table 
near by. As he lifted the cup to his lips his 
eyes fixed themselves on her face. 

“You are an extraordinary woman,” he 
began. “ When I think of you as ” 

“ As what, Luke ? ” she asked eagerly, for 
there seemed to her at that moment to be a 
new note in his voice. If, after all, he was be- 
ginning to love her, if by any chance that 
passion which she felt for him was about to be 
responded to, then good-by to all else, good- 
by to the child’s future, good-by to everything 
but the prize which she had set herself to win. 


“Your Eyes are Big and Bright.” 225 

To win Luke Tarbot’s heart she would not care 
to what crime she stooped. Now she came a 
little nearer to him, and laid one of her thin 
but shapely hands on his arm. 

“You are very tired, and you ought to rest," 
she said. 

“ I am tired,” he replied, “ dead tired, worn 
out. A night like this takes a lot out of a man. 
Clara, you look well.” 

“ I am glad you think so. I have put on no 
jewels because you dislike them. I take great 
pains with my dress these days." 

“ You do, my poor girl.” 

“ For your sake, Luke." 

“ It is useless, Clara," he said, but he uttered 
the words sadly, and still there was that new 
puzzled expression in his eyes, and, notwith- 
standing his words, she did not think that her 
pains were quite thrown away. 

Having finished his tea, Tarbot was refreshed. 
He stood up. He did not mind talking to 
Clara in the garish morning light. 

“ I shall be an old man before my time,” he 
said abruptly. “ I am a disappointed, a bitterly 
disappointed man. I only live for one thing now. 
When that is over my career will be ended.” 

Clara made no reply, but her gray eyes 
were still fixed upon him. 

“ And until it is over I shall have no rest," 
he continued. “ There is a fever here.” He 
laid his hand against his heart. 

15 


226 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ If you will go to your room you can have 
two or three hours of perfect quiet,” said 
Clara. “ Lay your head on your pillow, and 
you will drop asleep immediately.” 

“ I wish I could take your advice, but I am 
the victim of insomnia ; it has only come 
on lately. I did not like to tell you of it. I 
would give the world at this present mo- 
ment for a couple of hours’ refreshing slum- 
ber.” 

“Let me make some passes across your fore- 
head — I know exactly how. You will soon 
sleep if I do so.” 

“You mean that you want to mesmerize 
me ? ” 

“Not exactly to mesmerize you, Luke — not 
to go as far as that. It would require a 
stronger woman than I am to mesmerize a man 
like you.” 

He smiled at her — his slow, inscrutable 
smile. 

“ But I can put you to sleep. Let me try. 
Just stay quiet, and don’t resist me. Let 
yourself go. In ten minutes you will be 
asleep.” 

“ Can you limit the duration of my sleep ? ” 
he asked. 

“ Yes, you shall sleep for an hour, two hours, 
three hours. How long can you give yourself ? ” 

“ What o’clock is it now ? ” 

“ Six o’clock.” 


“ Your Eyes are Big and Bright.” 227 

“ I can sleep until nine, I believe. Will 
you promise to wake me at nine o’clock ? ” 

“You shall wake yourself. I need not be 
present. I will simply suggest to you that you 
sleep for three hours, and at nine you will 
wake. You may rest assured that things will 
happen exactly as I wish.” 

“ Where did you learn all this gibberish, 
Clara? Oh, of course, with Dr. Weismann in 
Paris. He was a rare humbug.” 

“ You would not think so if you had been in 
his employment, as I was for three years. He 
performed marvelous cures, and was a won- 
derful man.” 

“ He is dead, is he not?” said Tarbot. 

“ He is. Had he been alive I should still 
have been with him.” 

“ Aye, Clara, and happier than with me.” 

“ Perhaps so, Luke ; but all the same, I am 
with you, and I would not change my lot for 
that of any other woman in the world. It is 
within your power to ” 

“ To do what ? ” 

“To make me the happiest woman on earth.” 

“How?” 

“ You know how.” 

“ Yes, I know how,” he said half sleepily, 
for already she was looking into his eyes. 

“ I have done much for you, after all, Clara,” 
he said. “ It is not every man who would 
marry a woman like you. You were a very 


228 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

plain woman before I gave you the means to 
dress yourself properly. You are not exactly 
plain now. You remind me of a beautiful snake 
— your head, as you arrange your hair lately, 
looks brilliant, but at any moment you may 
stretch out a forked tongue and strike, strike 
death — you give that impression. It is not a 
pleasant one, and yet to a certain extent it 
fascinates. You have a power of your own, 
and on many men you can exercise it, but not 
on me. I have done much for you. What 
more do you want ? I have given you house, 
name, position, unlimited wealth — what more 
do you want ?” 

“I want more— a little thing, but of such 
priceless value ! ” she said hungrily. 

He was lying back looking up at her. She 
was making passes across his forehead. 

“I feel strangely sleepy,” he said. “The 
most delicious sleep steals over me. It is 
wonderful ! You are a queer creature. What 
more did you say you wanted— what is the 
thing of priceless value ? ” 

“A heart, Luke— yours.” 

Tarbot gave a laugh. 

“ My heart ! ” he cried. “ It is out of your 
reach — high as the heavens it is above you, 
or low as hell beneath you, whichever simile 
you like best. It can never be yours. Did 
you say I should wake in three hours?” 

“In three hours,” she answered quietly. 


“ Your Eyes are Big and Bright.” 229 

“ Don’t turn your eyes from me— keep looking 
at me.” 

“ Your eyes are big and bright— wonderfully 
bright. There is a flash of sea-green in them. 
Now, Barbara’s eyes are brown with golden 
lights — yours are green and icy cold. How 
sleepy I feel. No, you will never have my 
heart — but folly ! I won’t give way to this.” 

The next instant his eyes closed, and he was 
in a sound and childlike slumber. 

Clara looked at him with a grim smile on 
her face. 

“ I believe I shall win him yet,” she mur- 
mured. “ If so, beware, little Piers Pelham ! ” 


230 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

WITH THE DOCTORS. 

Barbara received Mrs. Tarbot’s letter by 
the first post in the morning. She read the 
contents and determined to act on Clara’s 
counsel at once. Pelham was just getting up 
when his wife appeared. 

“ Dear, how bad you look ! ” said Barbara, 
giving him a glance of mingled apprehension 
and affection. 

“ Matters get worse and worse with me, 
Bab,” he replied. “ I sometimes scarcely 
know what I am doing.” 

“ It is all nerves, dear,” she answered. 

“ If so, do you know a cure ? ” 

'‘Common sense,” she replied. 

“What do you mean, Barbara?” 

. “What I say. You are very anxious. If 
your mind were set at rest your nervous fears 
would vanish.” 

“Ah, but that’s just it. I can’t set my mind 
at rest. -You don’t know what happened last 
night.” 

He then related his interview with Mrs. Peb 


With the Doctors. 


231 

ham and his further interview with Tarbot. 
Barbara listened attentively. 

“ I know what I would do,” she said sud- 
denly. 

“ What?” 

“ You are not satisfied with the death cer- 
tificate ? " 

“ No.” 

“You suspect Dr. Tarbot ?” 

“ Heaven help me, Barbara, I do. I cannot 
help it. The man is a scoundrel. I cannot 
look at him without being assured on that 
point.” 

“ I don’t like him,” said Barbara ; “ but 
never, no, never for a single moment, can I 
think of him as you do. The dear little fellow 
came by his death through natural causes— of 
that I am firmly convinced, but if I were you, 
Dick ” 

“Yes ?” he asked. 

“ I would go and see the two great consult- 
ants who were called in when little Piers was 
so ill.” 

Pelham gazed at her anxiously. 

“That is a capital idea,’' he said, and his 
brow cleared. 

“ You will act on it, Dick— will you not ? ” 

“ I will think about it,” he replied. 

“The two great consultants,” she called 
after him, as he left the room. “ You’ll visit 
them both. Ask them if their verdict coincides 


232 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

with that of Luke Tarbot, and then go to the 
chemist, Dick, and get a copy of the prescrip- 
tion for yourself.” 

“Good, good!” he answered. “You’re a 
wife in a thousand, Bab.” He kissed her 
affectionately. 

Pelham felt too much excited to eat any 
breakfast. He went into the Park and wan- 
dered about until it was late enough to visit 
Sir Richard Spears. When at ten o’clock he 
presented himself at the house of the great 
specialist his eyes were gleaming brightly, but 
the rest of his face looked haggard. He asked 
if the doctor was in. The servant replied in 
the affirmative. Pelham then inquired if he 
might see him. 

“ Have you an appointment, sir ? ” asked 
the man. 

“ No ; but, all the same, it is most urgent 
that I should see him as soon as possible.” 
As Pelham spoke he produced his card. The 
man looked at it. 

“ I will inquire if the doctor can see you, sir. 
You are early, and it maybe possible that he 
can give you an interview before his other 
patients arrive.” 

The man took Pelham’s card into the doctor’s 
inner sanctum. He soon reappeared and 
motioned Pelham to follow him. 

Sir Richard Spears had keen eyes. As 
patient after patient appeared before him he 


With the Doctors. 


233 


was wont to give each a quick glance, after 
which he scarcely troubled to watch their 
faces again. In that glance, as a rule, he 
found out what was the matter with each of 
those who came to ask him for relief. 

“ A highly disordered nervous condition,” 
was his comment with regard to Pelham. 

“ Sit down. What can I do for you ? ” he 
asked. 

“ You can answer a question,” said Pelham. 

“ About yourself ? You come to me as a 
patient ? ” 

“ In one sense, yes, in another, no. I 
am very much troubled, and I think it just 
possible that you may be able to relieve 
me.” 

“ Then yours is a mental case, but ” 

“ I have come to ask you a question,” inter- 
rupted Pelham, “ and I am willing to pay the 
ordinary fee. Will you answer it ?” 

“Ask it and then I will tell you,” said the 
doctor. 

“ My question is this : You saw little Sir 
Piers Pelham during his last illness. You saw 
him, I am given to understand, in consultation 
with Dr. Tarbot of Harley Street ? ” 

“ That is so ; but this. Sir Richard Pelham” 
—the doctor glanced at the young man’s card 
as he spoke— “ this is unusual.” 

“ It is unusual, and so is my attitude,” re- 
plied Pelham. “ What I have come to ask is 


234 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

this : Do you believe that the child’s death 
was owing to aortic disease ? ” 

“ Undoubtedly.” 

Pelham’s brow cleared. He gave a short, 
quick sigh of relief. 

“ Why do you ask me ? ” 

“ Because I have had my doubts. I have 
known Piers from a child : he never showed 
the slightest symptom of heart disease.” 

“ That fact has nothing to do with it. Aor- 
tic disease may come on suddenly and — end 
abruptly. In the case of your young friend it 
did so. I am glad to be able to relieve your 
mind. Yours is a somewhat strange inquiry, 
but I have thought it best to answer it.” 

“ What is your fee ? ” asked Pelham. 

“ Nothing, because I have done nothing for 
you. Good-by. By the way, you don’t look 
too well yourself. You ought to have change 
and rest.” 

“ I shall be better now,” replied Pelham. 
He left the house. From Sir Richard Spears 
he went to Dr. Williamson. He was also for- 
tunate enough to see him, and to put to him 
the same question. The same reply was 
vouchsafed. The boy had died from aortic 
disease. Aortic disease as a rule ended sud- 
denly. 

Dick’s relief was now so manifest in his face 
that he could almost laugh aloud. From Dr. 
Williamson he went straight to the chemist 


With the Doctors. 235 

from whom he had obtained the medicine 
which had been given to little Sir Piers on the 
night of his death. The chemist was willing 
to give him a copy of the prescription. Dick 
knew nothing whatever about medicine, but 
having got the copy, he asked the man what 
each ingredient meant. In some surprise the 
chemist answered him. 

“ This is a very harmless prescription,” he 
said. “ It would have little effect one way or 
the other.” 

“ But the child for whom it was meant,” said 
Dick, his suspicions returning in a flash, “ re- 
quired a strong stimulant immediately.” 

The chemist shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I am not prepared to enter into that ques- 
tion,” he answered. “ This prescription is 
harmless — a little sal volatile, a small dose of 
digitalis, etc., etc.” 

“Thank you,” replied Dick. 

. “ I am a fool for my pains,” he said to himself. 
“ Tarbot is an honest man, and the child died 
from natural causes. I am a fool for my pains.” 

He rushed home and burst into the room 
where Barbara was sitting. His face was now 
like sunshine. 

“ You will have no cause to be miserable 
again,” he said. “ I have taken your advice. 
My suspicions have vanished into thin air.” 

“ Thank God for His mercy ! ” said the 
young wife. 


236 On the Brink of a Chasm. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE LITTLE WOMAN IN BLACK. 

About a fortnight after the Pelhams had 
taken up their residence at Pelham Towers a 
little old woman might have been seen making 
her- way slowly up the avenue. From the 
lodge gates to the mansion was a distance of 
nearly two miles. The little woman as she 
walked kept muttering to herself. 

“ Craft shall meet craft/' she was saying. 
“Yes, if Clary had confided in me I wouldn’t 
ha’ done nothing secret or unbeknown, but as 
it is. I’ll just find out for myself what I can. 
The child’s as good a little lad as ever walked 
the earth. He’s all the same to me as if he 
were bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh. 
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him. But 
a dearie me ! I ain’t a-going to be gulled not 
for nobody, and by Clary least of all. Haven’t 
I nursed her and dangled her in my arms and 
lay awake with her when she was teething, and 
is she going to make a fool of her old mother 
now ? Not a bit of it. 

“There's a mighty secret wrapped up in 


\ 

The Little Woman in Black. 237 

tVat little lad, and I’m going to get to the bot- 
tom of it. He never told me— poor darling ! 
—but Clary didn't count that he'd talk in his 
sleep. She gives me three pound a week for 
looking after him ; s'pose I make her give me 
ten or fifteen, or s’pose I tell her that her secret 
and I ain’t going to be bedfellows much longer. 
S’pose I refuse to keep it altogether ? Ah, I 
have Clary in my power. Fancy me having a 
woman like that under my thumb ! But it is 
so — it is so. When she was young she was 
always one too many for me. Even as a little 
tot she would have her own way, and she’d look 
round at me as spiteful as you please, and just 
do the very thing I told her not, but the tables 
is going to be turned now, or I’m much mis- 
took. I wish no ill to my own darter, but I’ll 
know her secret or my name’s not Sary 
Ives.” 

The little woman walked on as rapidly as 
she could. She was a smart little personage 
and very trim and spruce for her years. It 
was a windy day, and her thin skirts were blown 
about her spare figure. She wore an old-fash- 
ioned poke bonnet, and a black shawl was 
pinned neatly across her chest. She looked 
the very essence of rustic respectability. Her 
dress ^vas of black merino, and she had a gay 
crimson kerchief peeping out under the shawl ; 
her glov^ were of crimson cloth of the same 
color as the kerchief. She wore cloth boots 


238 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

with elastic sides, and looked down at the^n 
now and then with complacency. 

“Aye, Fm as neat as a new pin,” she said to 
herself ; “ and these boots are as comforcable 
as can be. Yes, Fll find out all I can, and Fll 
let out nothing. Now, I wonder who this 
pretty young miss is a-coming up the avenue. 
Fll bob a curtsey to her leastways." 

A tall girl leading a bicycle and wearing a 
dark blue serge cycling dress Avas seen ap- 
proaching. A couple of dogs were following 
her. The dogs made at once for the old 
woman, barking loudly as they did so. But 
Mrs. Ives was no coward. She dropped two 
or three curtseys, as was her manner, first to 
the lady and then to the dogs. The dogs be- 
gan to leap up at her. 

“ Manners, manners ! " she cried to them. 
“ Get down. Call ’em off, please, missy, call 
’em off. I ain’t afeared, for I don’t think 
they’ll bite, but I don’t want to be stretched 
flat on the road. Call ’em off, please, 
missy.” 

Barbara whistled to the dogs, who imme- 
diately bounded back to her. She drew up 
before the little woman, who dropped another 
curtsey. 

“ Eh, but you’re a pretty gel, and it’s a 
pleasure to look at you,” said Mrs. Ives. 

Barbara colored. 

“ I don’t know your face,” she said. “ I 


\ The Little Woman in Black. 239 

know most of the people round here. Are 
you a stranger ? ” 

“ My dearie, that I am, and my name is Ives 
— Mrs. Ives — at your service.” 

“ Ives ! ” said Barbara, feeling puzzled. 
“ Ives — it is an uncommon name,” she added. 

“Yes, my love, but not so uncommon in 
Cornwall as here. I hail from Cornwall, 
missy.” 

“ I have never been in Cornwall,” said Bar- 
bara, “ but I understand that it is a beautiful 
county.” 

“That it is. Eh, but you won’t mind a 
compliment from an old woman — you have a 
sweet face. I like them big brown eyes and 
that clear sort of complexion without any 
freckles. Was you ever troubled with freckles, 
dear ?” 

“ No,” replied Barbara. 

“ Well, there’s a beautiful recipe I has got 
for getting rid of ’em. It’s mostly made of 
buttermilk, but the buttermilk must be fresh. 
Oh, I beg your pardon. Miss”— for Barbara 
was beginning to move on. “ I was on my 
way to the house to see the lady, the new lady 
what has got lately married— Lady Pelham. 
I want to ask her some questions.” 

“ I am Lady Pelham,” said Barbara, “ so you 
need not go to the house to see me. Can I 
do anything for you ? ” 

“ Oh, sakes alive ! ” Mrs. Ives dropped 


240 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

three or four curtseys in quick succession. 
“ To think that I should be looking at a real 
titled dame ! It must be wonderful comfortin’ 
to be called Lady. Do 3^ou like it, my dear 
young Miss ? ’’ 

“ Yes,” answered Barbara, who began to be 
much entertained. “ I like to be called Lady 
Pelham because I know then that I am my 
dear husband’s wife. I love him with all my 
heart.” 

“That’s right, and as it should be,” said old 
Mrs. Ives in an emphatic voice. “ I like to 
hear a young lady stand up for her good man. 
And how long is you wedded, dear ? ” 

“ Not long — not quite two months.” 

“ Aye, these are early days. You haven’t 
had your first quarrel, has you ?” 

“ No ; why should I ever have a quarrel ?” 

“ Oh, they come in the best intentioned 
families — they’re certain to come. You’ll fret, 
and you’ll fume, and you’ll say ’ard things to 
one another, and you’ll get a little away from 
each other, but if you’re a sensible miss, as I 
take you to be by that glint in 'your eyes, you’ll 
come together again. Things will be all right 
if you’ll only use common sense and bear and 
forbear. That’s it, my dear young lady. Bear 
and forbear. That’s what I’d like to say to 
my darter, who’s lately married, but she 
wouldn’t hear it from me.” 

“ And why should she not hear it from 


The Little Woman in Black. 241 

you, for it is excellent advice ? ” said Barbara. 
“ But you say you’re a stranger to these 
parts.” ' 

“ I come from the next county, Miss.” 

“ And you want to say something to me ? ” 

“ I thought I’d call in, for I’m sort of curi- 
ous. Seems to me as I know your name.” 

“ I daresay you have heard it before. The 
Pelhams of Pelham Towers are well known.” 

“ In their own count}^, no doubt,” said the 
old woman, “ but not in mdne, at least, not 
among the cottagers.” 

“ But you have heard the name ? ” 

“ Aye, and that’s my secret.” 

“ You look rather fagged with your walk. 
You must come down to the house with me 
and have something to eat. You don’t look 
too strong.” 

“ But I am, my dear ; Fm as strong as can 
be. I’ll be seventy my next birthday. Come 
November I’ll have done my three score years 
and ten, but dear heart, there ain’t no failing 
about me. I’m a bit withered— ripe, I tells 
the child.” 

“ Oh, you have a child. Is he your own ? ” 

“ Not he. He’s a little lad what lives with 
me. I call ’im my own child, for Fm fond of 
him. Yes, 111 come to the house with you if 
you like. I’d be glad of a bite and a sup. 
Beer is what I takes. I can’t abear tea— it’s 
washy stuff.” 


242 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“You shall have a glass of beer and some 
cold meat. Come this way.” 

“ But you was going for a ride on that 
wicked-looking machine,” said the old woman. 

“Oh, the ride can keep,” returned Barbara. 
“ ril come with you and make you comfort- 
able.” 

As she spoke she turned her bicycle and 
walked down the long avenue by the little 
woman’s side. 

“ This is a powerful big place,” said Mrs. 
Ives. 

“ It is,” answered Barbara. 

“Your husband must be a rich man.” 

“ He is, very.” 

“Now, I wonder has you any other places 
to call your own ? ” 

“ I believe we have several.” 

“ Dear heart ! it seems too much for a 
young couple. You’ll be wore out with the 
responsibility of ’em, my deary. You’d ha’ 
done a deal better to pray the prayer of Agar 
and be satisfied with what he asked the Al- 
mighty for.” 

“ I don’t remember what he wanted at this 
moment,” replied Barbara with a smile. 

“ Oh, my word ! you ain’t been brought up 
proper on your Bible. ‘Give me neither 
poverty nor riches,’ was Agar’s cry, ‘ and feed 
me with food convenient for me.’ I often 
thought how beautiful was his words, and 


The Little Woman in Black. 243 

when I sees the rich and great of the earth I 
says to myser, ‘Well, they’re not Agars.’ 
They might ha’ been Agars if they liked and 
gave away some of their property to feed the 
starving, but they didn’t like it and they ain’t 
got the blessing. My deary. I’d like well to 
see that husband of yours.” 

“ If we meet him I’ll introduce him to you.” 

“What’s his name, dear ?” 

“ Sir Richard Pelham.” 

“Aye, that’s a pretty name ; and you’re not 
married more than two months ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ I hope you’ll be happy. Lady Pelham, and 
you has my best wishes. Oh, is this the 
house ? ” 

They were turning a corner of the avenue 
as the old woman spoke, and now the mag- 
nificent old pile, gray with age, appeared in 
view. Mrs. Ives dropped a succession of curt- 
seys with great rapidity. 

“ It’s my way of expressing my feelings,” 
she said, looking at Barbara. “ It’s a magnifi- 
cent place, and you must be proud of it.” 

“ Not at all. Sometimes one feels both 
pleasure and pain in possessing a place of this 
sort.” 

“ Oh, that’s because you’re young to it,” 
said Mrs. Ives. “ You’ll soon get accustomed, 
mark my words. Of course, only being 
wedded two months, you naturally feel a bit 


244 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

strange. Perhaps afore you was married you 
was a poor girl like my Clary.’' 

“Clara!” cried Barbara in astonishment. 
“ Clara Ives I Do you mean to tell me,” she 
cried excitedly, “ that you are the mother of 
Clara Ives, the nurse ? ” 

“ Same, love, same. She’s my own true 
darter— a plain girl.” 

“And she’s married to Dr. Tarbot ? ” 

“ Yes, my dear ; like yourself, she’s married 
riches — from poverty she has come to great 
wealth.” 

“ I was never exactly poor in that way,” said 
Barbara, who did not care to have her past 
compared to that of Clara Ives. “ But this is 
interesting 1 ” she cried. “You are not like 
Mrs. Tarbot.” 

“ Oh, something the same, my dear. I’ve 
just them sort of crabbed notions ; she was 
always a crabbed girl, but mortal clever. 
Well, I was curious to see the place and now 
I’ve seen it, and I’m pleased to have had this 
talk with you. Now, your husband, he don’t 
have your feelings, do he ? He’s accustomed 
to wealth from his birth, ain’t that so ?” 

“ Well, no, that’s the curious part,” said Bar- 
bara, who found herself confiding in this old 
woman, and not in the least minding the fact 
that she was doing so. “ Dick, my dear 
husband, came in for the property unexpect- 
edly.” 


The Little Woman in Black. 245 

“ Indeed, that do sound romantic. Was it a 
sudden death, a shipwreck, or a murder, that 
done it ? ” 

“ Oh, no, no, nothing like that — but it was 
very sad. Mr. Pelham, as he was then, was 
very poor, and he loved me well, but we could 
not marry. Then his dear little cousin died 
—such a sweet boy— and Dick became Sir 
Richard Pelham." 

“Ah, quite a little child it was who stood in 
the way and he died ? " said Mrs. Ives. 

“Yes," replied Barbara, “the little boy 
died." 

“ A baby were he, love ? " 

“ Oh, no, not a baby. He was seven years 
old — such a pretty boy ! " 

“To be sure now, that was great trouble. 
And so your husband came in for the property 
then ? " 

Yes." 

“ How long ago, may I ask ? " 

“ Two or three months ago. It all happened 
unexpectedly. The boy was never strong — he 
died of heart disease. By the way," continued 
Barbara, looking full at the old woman, “ you 
must have heard about it, for your daughter 
nursed him during his last illness." 

“A mercy me!" said Mrs. Ives. “As if 
that makes any difference ! Clary talk about 
her patients to her old mother 1 Not she. I 
knows nothing about it, dear, and I’d like well 


246 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

to hear the story. But your eyes are full of 
tears ; you look quite sad.” 

“ I always feel sad when I think of him — 
dear little Piers ! ” 

“ To be sure, to be sure. What was it you 
called him, love ? ” 

“ Piers.” 

“ That’s an uncommon name.” 

“ It is, but it has belonged to the family of 
the Pelhams for generations. I am sorry Dick 
is not Piers, although, of course, I like his own 
name.” 

“ I am vastly interested by what you tells 
me, love. The child must have been a nice 
little gentleman.” 

“Yes; but I can’t talk of him any more. 
It makes me too sad. Come this way, Mrs. 
Ives.” 

Barbara entered the house and took the old 
woman in the direction of the housekeeper’s 
room. The housekeeper’s name was Mrs. Pos- 
set. She was very stout, and she always wore 
the richest of black silk dresses and the finest 
of real lace caps. When Barbara entered she 
rose and looked with anything but approval at 
Mrs. Ives. 

Please, Mrs. Posset,” said Barbara in her 
kind voice, “ will you give this old lady some- 
thing to eat ? She is tired and has come a 
long way.” 

“ Eh, dear^ what a beautiful dress ! ” cried 


The Little Woman in Black. 247 

Mrs. Ives, dropping a low curtsey to the house- 
keeper, who was much more stately in her 
manner than Barbara herself. 

A little flattery always mollified Mrs. Posset, 
and she told Barbara that she would do what 
was necessary. Accordingly she invited Mrs. 
Ives to seat herself, and ringing a bell, the 
still-room maid appeared. Directions were 
given to her, with the result that in about five 
minutes a trayful of appetizing viands was 
brought into the room. The tray was placed 
in front of Mrs. Ives, who drew off her crim- 
son gloves-, unfastened her black shawl, and 
prepared to enjoy herself. 

“ Eh,” she said, looking up at Mrs. Posset 
presently, “ it’s a mournful tale.” 

“ What ? ” asked the housekeeper. 

“That about the little lad who died.” 

“ Fd rather not talk of it,” said Mrs. Posset. 
As she spoke her face began to work— it got 
crimson, then her eyes filled with tears. She 
covered her face and sobbed audibly. 

“ She do take it to heart. I can pump her 
a bit,” thought the old woman. After a mo- 
ment she said — 

“ You’re upset, ma’am, and I’m sorry.” 

“ I am,” said Mrs. Posset. “ I loved him as 
if he were my own. He was a dear little chap.” 

“He must have been, and the young lady 
what got her husband and the beautiful place, 
too, by means of the death, seems mighty 


248 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

troubled, too. I s’pose he was a handsome 
little feller ? ” 

“ Handsome ! ” cried Mrs. Posset. “ I never 
saw his like, never. The most beautiful child 
you ever set eyes on.” 

“ Fair, I s’pose ? Most of the quality is fair.” 

“ Not abit of it. Dark as a raven, black hair, 
beautiful brown eyes, and such a complexion. 
And the manner with him and the loving 
words, and the way he’d fling his arms round 
my neck and say, ‘ I love you, Posset. Pos- 
set, have you got a bit of cake for me ? ’ Oh, 
he was a darling little chap ! ” 

“ He must have been,” said Mrs. Ives. “ It’s 
afflictin’ to hear you, ma’am. Maybe you has 
got his picter ? I’d like well to see it.” 

“I have got a lovely photograph, but I don’t 
show it to everybody.” 

“Well, then, ma’am, I won’t ask again, and 
I’m very much obliged for the nice food and 
thank you kindly. I sympathize with your 
grief. I has lost children of my own, and I 
know what it means.” 

“ If you would really like to see the photo- 
graph,” began Mrs. Posset, “ I don’t mind show- 
ing it to you, for you seem a feeling sort of 
body.” 

As she spoke she crossed the room, opened 
a chiffonier and took out a leather case. This 
she unfastened and laid before the little woman. 
Mrs. Ives dropped three or four curtseys in 


The Little Woman in Black. 249 

succession, her face turned white and her lips 
trembled. 

“ I thank you, ma’am. It brings the tears 
to my eyes to see that little face,” she said. 
Then she made a hasty adieu and vanished. 


250 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

‘‘ there’s a cruel sin somewhere.” 

On leaving the house Mrs. Ives walked 
quickly up the avenue. When she had gone 
nearly a mile she met one of the under-garden- 
ers. He was weeding and cutting the edges of 
the road. As her wont was, Mrs. Ives dropped 
a curtsey right in front of him. 

“ A’ternoon,” she said. 

The man looked at her and nodded in reply. 

“ Fine day,” he said after a pause. 

“Yes, fine day,” said Mrs. Ives, “but you 
might speak to a body. In Cornwall they 
speaks to a body when a body curtseys. Isn’t 
that the manner with Devonshire folk ? ” 

“ I don’t mean to be oncivil,” said the man. 
“Was there anything you wanted to ask, 
ma’am ? ” 

“ I’d be obliged if you’d kindly direct me to 
the family vault,” said Mrs. Ives. 

“ What in the name of fortune for ? ” 

“ Curiosity, my young lad. If I has a failing 
it’s unbounded curiosity. I want to see the 
place where the little Sir Piers is lying till the 
trump of doom.” 


“There’s a Cruel Sin Somewhere.’’ 251 

“ Oh, if you really wish to see the family 
vault,” said the man resting on his spade as 
he spoke, “you just take that turn there to 
the left and you’ll find yourself alongside the 
chapel. There’s a lych gate and a graveyard 
all correct and proper. You go through the 
gate and you’ll see the vault -in front of you.” 

“A big vault, I s’pose ?” said Mrs. Ives. 

“Yes, a big square vault with a stone top. 
It’s mostly full by now.” 

“ I don’t want to hear no more,” said Mrs. 
Ives. “ I am curious by natur’, but I has no 
taste for the horrors. I’ll be wishing you a 
good a’ternoon.” 

She dropped another curtsey, and the man 
touched his hat and went on with his work. 

Mrs. Ives took the next turning to her left. 
She went down a narrow path, and presently 
saw where the old chapel, partly in ruins and 
partly well preserved, came into view. In the 
east portion of the chapel services could be 
held, and were held on certain occasions. The 
old lych gate was in front of her. She opened 
it and went through, and then walked up the 
path which led to the chapel. The chapel it- 
self was open and she entered. The walls of 
that part which were still in preservation were 
covered with brasses and monuments, some 
very old fashioned, some more modern, but all 
erected to the praise and glory of the dead and 
gone Pelhams. In every direction there were 


252 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

monuments, and as she was looking some 
workmen were busy. They saw her and made 
way for her to pass. A lovely tablet of the 
purest white marble was being put up to the 
memory of little Piers. Mrs. Ives began to 
speak to the men, but they were strangers and 
did not know anything about the child. 

“ It seems mortal sad for the young to pass 
away in their first blush,” said Mrs. Ives, turn- 
ing to the head workman. 

“ It is that, ma’am,” he answered. 

“ And where is this beautiful monument to 
be placed, if I may venture to ask ? ” 

“ On this wall, in front of the family pew, 
just there,” said the man. “ It’s young Lady 
Pelham has ordered it to be done. She comes 
to see how we are getting on every day.” 

“Well, it’s a pretty simple design, and no 
doubt worthy of the lamb called so early to his 
rest,” said Mrs. Ives. She dropped another 
curtsey, not to the man but to the tablet, and 
went into the churchyard. There she found 
the family vault and stood by it fora time. An 
old man who was passing through the grave- 
yard came up to her. 

“ Now I wonder was you present at the 
funeral of Sir Piers Pelham ?” asked Mrs. Ives, 
dropping two curtseys. 

“Yes, that I were,” he replied, “ and it was 
the finest funeral we’ve had for many a day. 
All the county come, and there was a lot of 


“ There’s a Cruel Sin Somewhere.” 253 

crying and sobbing, but it was nothing to what 
took place that same night.” 

“What were that ?” she asked. “I like a 
good story,” she continued. She slipped her 
hand into her pocket, produced a shilling, and 
pressed it into the man’s palm. He pocketed 
it with a quick motion and turned and faced 
her. 

“ I don’t mind telling what I know,” he said. 
“ The awful time was when the heir himself, 
the new baronet, come back.” 

“ Sir Richard, you mean ? ” 

“ The same. He come that night all alone, 
and he were in a terrible state. He went right 
into the vault. He had a lantern with him, 
and down he went, yes down the steps and 
into the vault. I stood near in the dark trem- 
bling mighty, just ahint that yew tree, but he 
didn’t notice me. He went into the vault, and 
I saw the lantern lighting up the gloom. I 
heard him groaning to himself. He was in 
mortal trouble if ever young man were.” 

“ It’s a strange tale,” said Mrs. Ives, “ and 
afflictin’. He must ha’ been a tender-hearted 
young man. I’ll wish you a good a’ternoon.” 

She left the little churchyard and was soon 
on the high road. She reached Haversham 
station in time to catch her train, and very late 
the same night found herself home once more 
in her little cottage in Cornwall. 

Piers was asleep. As he lay on his small 


254 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

bed, with one arm flung above his clustering 
mass of black curls, Mrs. Ives shading a can- 
dle, bent carefully over him. 

“The same,” she muttered. “The same 
shape of face, the true oval, most aristocratic, 
the mouth with its dimples and its curves— aye, 
it takes quality to make a mouth like that. 
The brows— I could be romantic over the 
brows, they look as if they was Cupid’s bows. 
I ha’ heard the expression, it’s poetry and it’s 
beautiful. The ’air dark and curly and as soft 
as silk. Oh, he’s the very same. Clary, what 
do it mean ? what do it mean ? ” 

The little woman left the boy and went back 
to her kitchen. There she sat with her hands 
folded on her lap and a look of consternation, 
even terror, on her small crabbed face. 

“ What do it mean ?” she repeated. “ There’s 
no doubt they ha’ put a coffin in the vault, but 
there ain’t no little Sir Piers in it.” 

Mrs. Ives’ thoughts were so disturbing that, 
weary as she was, she did not care to go to bed. 
She drew a glass of beer from a barrel in the 
corner, drank it off, and after a very long time 
lay down without troubling to undress in the 
room where the boy slept. 

Early in the morning he awoke fresh and 
bright. He scrambled out of bed and went 
to the old woman’s side. He then sat on the 
bottom of the bed and faced her. 

. “You’ve come back,” he said. “I’m so glad.” 


“ There’s a Cruel Sin Somewhere.” 255 

“ I have come back, Piers,” she answered. 

“Where were you yesterday, grannie ?” 

“ I went on a long journey into Devonshire.” 

“ Oh,” said Piers very solemnly, “ I wish you 
wouldn’t.” 

“ Why so, love ? Do you object to me 
going into the next county ? ” 

“ I do,” replied Piers, “ because ” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“Oh, I can’t tell you. She’ll be angry.” 

“ Who, dear ? ” 

“ She.” 

“ Do you mean my darter— Mrs. Tarbot ?” 

“ I do, grannie.” 

“ Well, whether she’s angry or whether she’s 
not,” said Mrs. Ives, “ I went sure enough. 
You sit there on the bed and I’ll tell you a bit 
of a story. I went to a beautiful place.” 

“Did you?” said the boy. He was trem- 
bling and the color was coming and going in 
his face. One moment his cheeks were bril- 
liantly red, the next white. His little hands 
shook, he locked one inside the other to keep 
them still. 

“A real beautiful place,” continued Mrs. 
Ives. “ I won't name no names, for names is 
worriting to the young, but I went there and 
saw a very lovely young lady.” 

“A lovely young lady,” repeated little Piers. 
“ I like lovely ladies. Was she more beautiful 
than your daughter, grannie ? ” 


256 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ My darter and she ain’t in the same run- 
nin’.’ You know how freckled my poor Clary 
is, but there weren’t a freckle on her face, bless 
her, and her eyes were as brown as hazel nuts 
and wide open, and with a sparkle in the mid- 
dle of ’em.” 

“ I once knew eyes like that,” said little Piers. 
“ Please don’t say any more.” 

“ Why not, love ? It was a beautiful place, 
and she was good to me, and took me down 
to the house. Oh, there was a mortal long 
avenue — two miles, if you’ll believe me. Piers.” 

“Two miles ! ” said little Piers. 

“ What’s the matter, dear ?” 

“ Nothing, but 3^our story makes me sad. I 
once knew an avenue two miles long.” 

“No ! did you, love ? That’s curious, very.” 

“ I did,” said little Piers. “ You may go on 
talking if you like, grannie.” 

“ I’m glad you’re interested, my hearty, and 
I’m willing to go on. The young lady with 
the pretty brown eyes took me down to the 
house and I was took to the housekeeper’s room. 
Dear heart ! the housekeeper was mortal stout. 
I don’t believe she’s long for this world.” 

Little Piers got crimson. 

“ She is,” he cried, “ she is.” 

“ She’s not, love. She’s too stout to live.” 

“She’s not a bit too stout,” said little Piers. 

“ Why do you say that, dear ? You don’t 
know her, do you ? ” 


“ There’s a Cruel Sin Somewhere.” 257 

“ I won’t say whether I know her or not,” 
returned the boy firmly, “ but she’s not too 
stout. She’s a darling. I love her.” 

“ What’s the matter with you. Piers ?” 

“ I don’t like that story. It reminds me 
of ” 

Of what, love ? ” 

“ My secret. Please don’t tell me any more, 
grannie.” 

“ I won’t if it frets you, dear heart. Go and 
put on your things, and we’ll both have our 
breakfast. You must be very hungry.” 

“ No, I seem to lose hunger when you talk 
about the house, and the housekeeper, and the 
brown eyes of that beautiful, most beautiful 
girl.” 

“ Then I won’t say another word. Oh, by 
the way, they was all in sorrow.” 

“ Were they ? What about ? ” 

“ It seems there was a little chap that— but 
what is the matter. Piers ? ” 

“ I won’t listen, I won’t, I won’t,” cried Piers. 
He clapped his hands to his ears and rushed 
out of the room. 

“ He shall come into his own. There’s a 
cruel sin somewhere, and Clary is at the bottom 
of it,” said Mrs. Ives to herself. 

17 


258 On the Brink of a Chasm. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

NOT IN THE BARGAIN. 

Nearly a month went by and the time was 
getting towards Christmas. The weather in 
London was bitterly cold. Fogs were fre- 
quent, and there was a good deal of sickness 
about. 

Mrs. Pelham had left town and gone down 
to Pelham Towers to stay with the new owner 
and his wife. She was to spend Christmas 
with them. Tarbot had discovered what he 
considered a specific against influenza and was 
specially busy. His wife helped him. She 
had thrown herself into the full interest of his 
work, and was a valuable assistant. He found 
himself talking over his cases with her. She 
gave him many an important suggestion. 

As a competent nurse and even as a friend 
he began to find her not disagreeable. Her 
hopes were high that she might yet win that 
shriveled and undeveloped part of him which 
he called his heart. As illness increased and 
the doctor’s time became more and more busy, 
Clara hoped against hope that his darling re- 


Not in the Bargain. 259 

venge was being put out of sight. With all 
her knowledge and all her cleverness, however, 
she little knew her man. 

Towards the middle of December the influ- 
enza began to abate, and on a certain evening 
Tarbot came home early, entered his wife’s 
drawing-room, and, flinging himself into a chair, 
looked her full in the face. 

“ I have earned a holiday,” he said. “ It 
will be possible for me to take it, and I mean 
to do so.” 

“ Indeed ! ” she replied. 

“ Yes, I am going into the country.” 

“Where to?” 

“ To‘Devonshire.” 

“To Devonshire,” repeated Clara, sitting up- 
right. 

“ Yes, to Devonshire. Mrs. Pelham, I un- 
derstand, is now staying at the Towers, and 
I want to see her.” 

“ What for, Luke ? ” 

He was silent for a moment, staring full 
into her face. 

“ I wish to see Mrs. Pelham, Clara, for that 
purpose which I mean no longer to delay in 
•putting into execution. I have discovered 
beyond doubt that poison was administered 
to Sir Piers Pelham. The poison, without 
question, caused the child’s death. This poi- 
son was given by Sir Richard Pelham, who is 
now the owner of the property and the reign- 


26 o On the Brink of a Chasm. 

ing baronet. Mrs. Pelham must know this 
fact without delay.” 

As he spoke Clara rose from her seat and 
began to pace up and down the room. She 
had the lithe, quick movements of the tigress. 
She was wearing a dress with a dash of yellow 
in it. The dress was made of velvet and clung 
to her figure, which was lissom and graceful. 
When her husband stopped speaking she 
paused in front of him, her thin hands clasped. 

“ Why do you talk folly ? ” she said. “ Why 
do you disguise your intentions and talk to me 
as if I did not know ? ” 

“Because I think it best,” he replied. “ We 
never can tell when our words may fall on 
other ears. That old proverb about the little 
bird comes true now and again, Clara. 
Understand once for all, that in this matter I 
intend from first to last to treat Pelham as if I 
myself believed in his guilt.” 

“You are intolerable,” she cried, turning 
away from him. “ I cannot work with you on 
those terms. If you will be above board, at 
least with me, I can then make up my mind 
whether I go with you or not.” 

“ Make up your mind whether you go with 
me or not ? ” he repeated in astonishment. 
“ Have you ever had any doubt ? ” 

“Many times,” she answered. 

He glanced at her, read something in her 
downcast face and his own turned pale. Then 


Not in the Bargain. 261 

starting to his feet he approached her. In an 
instant both her hands were in his grasp. 

“ Did you mean what you said just now ? ” 

She looked up at him. Stout as her courage 
was, something in his eyes made her heart 
quail. 

“ I didn’t mean it,” she answered. 

He dropped her hands and gave a hoarse 
laugh. 

“ If you had really meant it I should have 
killed you, ’ he replied. “ Did I marry you for 
you to fail me at the extreme moment ? You 
know the price you pay for your present posi- 
tion.” 

“Aye, Luke,” she replied, “ I do know the 
price, and I’ll pay it gladly to the last drop of 
my heart’s blood if only you on your part will 
fulfil your side of the bargain.” 

“What is. that ?” 

“ I want your love and you have never given 
it to me.” 

“ That was never in the bargain, Clara.” 

“In words it never was, but oh, you must 
have guessed.” 

She suddenly fell on her knees, her hands 
were clasped together, she looked up at him 
imploringly. 

“ Do you think I would do what I did— that 
I would make myself a by-word, a disgrace, 
one of the cruellest women in existence, if I 
had not hoped to win your love ? Do you 


262 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

think I would do what I did simply for posi- 
tion, a fine house, money ? You do not know 
me. Oh, Luke, Luke, give me what I crave 
for. Sometimes I think my heart will break. 

I would gladly do evil, commit crime for you, 
but not when you are cold, cold as ice to me.” 

“ Get up, Clara,” said Tarbot. “ I cannot 
listen to your words of folly. As to my loving 
you, understand once for all that it is abso- 
lutely out of the question. I do what I do 
because— no, even to you I will not tell that 
part. I have my reasons.” 

“ I wish you would tell me. I would not 
betray you.” 

“ I never will tell you. Get up. Cease to 
talk this folly or I shall despise you and be 
even more cold to you than I have been of 
late.” 

Clara rose slowly. Her mad passion was 
over. Her face was white as death. She 
coughed. Her cough was hoarse and hollow. 

“ You are not well,” said Tarbot. “ You 
ought to do something for that cough.” 

“ It is of no consequence, don’t notice it.” 

“ Well, then, let us return to business. I 
married you because in no other way could I 
get what I wanted. If you fail me now you 
know the consequences.” 

She did not reply, and he turned on his heel 
and walked away from her. When he came 
back again she had not stirred from her former 


Not in the Bargain. 263 

position ; her hands were still clasped tightly 
together, her head was bent. 

“ If you mean to defy me/’ said Tarbot, 
“ you had better know the truth. I can be 
terrible, cruel, dangerous to those who thwart 
me.” 

“ I won’t defy you,” she said then, making 
a sort of gasping sound as she spoke. She 
crouched away from him, and going up to the 
mantelpiece leant her elbow on it. Tarbot 
again paced up and down the room. After a 
time he came up to his wife and spoke in his 
usual tone. 

“ I go to Devonshire to-morrow. I shall re- 
main there for a day or two.” 

“And I ?” 

“ You stay here.” 

“ Are you going to Pelham Towers ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Where ? ” 

“ I shall put up at the inn at Great Pelham.” 

“ But the Pelhams will think it strange. They 
will probably invite you to stay with them.” 

“They may invite, but I shall not accept.” 

“What do you mean to do when you go to 
Devonshire ? ” said Clara. 

“ I don't mind telling you. I shall see Mrs. 
Pelham and acquaint her with the discovery 
I have made with regard to the medicine 
which was last given to Piers. She must be 
the one to deal with the matter. She will 


264 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

deal with it because I shall force her to, but 
she must take the initiative. In all probability 
she will come back to London, she may even 
want to see you. When she comes you will 
know what to say to her, Clara. Remember, 
I trust you. I shall leave here by an early 
train in the morning. I am going out now to 
arrange with my locum tenens” 

“Who is he?” 

“ Dr. Dayrell. He will stay here, and will 
see my patients until I return.” 

Tarbot left the room, and Clara found her- 
self alone. She still stood near the fire. 
Something glittered in her eye. She raised a 
cobwebby lace handkerchief to wipe it away 
—it was a tear. Then she sank into the nearest 
chair. 

“ I have heard the truth at last,” she said to 
herself. “ I shall never win his love. He has 
paid me what he considers a good price— he 
has made me his lawful wife. To the longest 
day he lives, unless I die first, I shall be his 
wife. He is rich and great, and I can share 
both his riches and his greatness, only I never 
married him for them. He will not believe 
me, but it is true. He thinks that for the sake 
of riches and greatness I shall be his tool and 
accomplice, but with all his cleverness he has 
not read my woman’s heart. If he loved me 
I would go with him wherever he chose to lead, 
but as he doesn’t love me, I am undecided — 


Not in the Bargain. 265 

love like mine has been known to change to 
hate. If such a thing should happen, Luke 
Tarbot had better beware.” 

She rose from her seat now in her agitation, 
and as she did so a pang sharp as a knife went 
through her chest. She paused as if she were 
stricken with death, and her breath came short 
and sharp. After a moment she went up to 
the glass and examined her face carefully. 

“ Thin, thin to emaciation,” she said to her- 
self. “The bones protrude. Ah, how ugly I 
grow ! No wonder he cannot love me. And 
this cough which I am always trying to sup- 
press, and the burning thirst, and the fever at 
night, and the cold sweat — oh, great heaven ! 
I know the truth, but I will have my fears 
confirmed, and now at this moment. I will 
be a coward no longer. My friend. Dr. Mary 
Murchison, will tell me the truth, and I would 
rather hear it from the lips of a woman than a 
man.” 

Clara left the drawing-room, went to her 
bedroom, put on her bonnet and warm mantle, 
and went out. Walking quickly, she soon 
reached Dr. Mary Murchison’s house in Queen 
Anne Street. The lady doctor was at home, 
and when Clara was ushered into her con- 
sulting-room came at once to see her. 

“ Mrs. Tarbot,” she cried, shaking hands 
with her. “lam glad you have come, but 
what can I do for you ? ” 


266 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ I am here on a painful business,” said 
Clara. “ I am, as you know, a doctor’s wife, 
but I would rather have the opinion of one 
who is not related to me. I have been unwell 
for some time.” 

“ You look very bad.” 

“ My lungs are, I know, affected. Will you 
tell me how seriously they are involved ? ” 

Dr. Mary Murchison promised to. comply. 
She brought her stethoscope, Clara bared her 
chest, and the doctor listened attentively. 
After a moment or two she put down the 
stethoscope and looked full at Dr. Tarbot’s 
wife. 

“ Well ? ” said Clara. 

Still Dr. Murchison did not speak. 

“ The truth, please,” said Clara again. 

“ You are very ill, Mrs. Tarbot.” 

“You mean that I am dying ? ” 

“ Well, yes, I do mean it. Both your lungs 
are affected, one extensively, but both are 
affected.” 

“ How long ?” asked Clara. 

“ A few months, not longer.” 

“ There is no remedy ? ” 

“ None.” 

“Thank you very much. I must return 
home now,” said Clara. 

“ But take care of yourself. You did wrong 
to come out in the night-air. How mad Dr. 
Tarbot must be not to have discovered this 


Not in the Bargain. 267 

long ago ! He ought to have sent you to a 
warmer climate.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” said Clara. “I thank 
you for telling me the truth.” 

She shook hands with Dr. Murchison and 
left the house. She had not been absent from 
her own house more than half an hour, and as 
she reentered the house Tarbot met her. 

“ You were out,” he said. “ Where were 
you ? ” 

“ I went to see my friend, Dr. Mary Murchi- 
son.” 

“ What about? ” 

“ I was asking her advice. I am not quite 
well, Luke.” 

“ I have noticed that,” he said slowly. He 
looked at her with his cruel eyes. It seemed 
to her then that they danced as if with malev- 
olent satisfaction. 

“ I will speak to you presently about your 
health,” he said. “ You may want a warmer 
climate. I have noticed that cough. Don’t 
go out again at night— it is unwise. I will 
have a talk with you when I return from 
Devonshire.” 

He nodded to her. 

She made no answer, but went up-stairs to 
the drawing-room and sat down in her chair 
once more by the fire. Once or twice she 
coughed feebly ; the cough gave her acute 
pain, she put her hand to her thin chest ; 


268 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

then, taking up a heavy Oriental shawl she 
wrapped it round her figure. As she was doing 
so, some one tapped her on the shoulder, and 
she looked up with a start. Little Mrs- Ives 
was standing before her. 

“ Aye, Clary, here I be,” said the little woman. 
“ I know well you didn’t expect me, and that 
you didn’t wish me to come, but I’ve kept it 
to myself for over a month and I can’t abear it 
no longer. I told that fine servant of yours to 
let me up. I took him by surprise and ran 
past him up the stairs. You needn’t glare at 
me like that, Clary, for here I be and here I’ll 
stay till I know the whole truth. Aye, Clary, 
my girl, I has found out your secret, and I 
know the name of the child. He’s Sir Piers 
Pelham, the rightful owner of Pelham Towers. 
I don’t mean to keep that secret to myself any 
longer.” 


A Black Crime 


269 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

A BLACK CRIME. 

Mrs. Ives’s appearance on the scene roused 
Clara. She questioned her mother eagerly. 
Very soon she had got to the bottom of the old 
woman’s knowledge. Mrs. Ives completely 
exonerated the boy of having broken his word. 

“There’s not a more truthful nor a braver 
little chap in existence,” she cried. “ He were 
alway.s a near telling me, dear lamb ! The 
whole thing worrited him awful, but he never 
did tell, never. Because he had given his 
word to you. Clary, nothing would make him 
break it. I don’t think red-hot irons would 
have wrung the truth from him, but he let it 
out in his sleep, bless him. He was restless, 
he had a bad headache. I gave him some 
quieting medicine, and he went to sleep in my 
arms, and in his sleep he began to talk and to 
mention the name of Pelham and Pelham 
Towers, and he cried out for some one called 
Dick and for a young lady of the name of 
Barbara. 

“You’ll judge it were easy for me to put two 


270 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

and two together after that. But I thoughc I’d 
make certain sure afore I come to you, Clary, 
and I did. A month ago I went to Pelham 
Towers and I saw the young lady, the baronet’s 
wife, and I saw the housekeeper. I also saw 
the family vault. Dear heart ! I heard a 
mighty piteous story about a coffin being put 
in and about one who went into the vault and 
who mourned as if his heart were broken. It 
was a deep plot, Clary, a deep plot, but I ha’ 
found it out. It ain’t your secret any more. 
It’s mine now.” 

“ What do you mean to do ? ” asked Clara 
at last. 

“Tell me first if it’s true. Clary. I know it 
is, but I’d like to hear it from your own lips.” 

“ Yes, mother, it’s true,” said Clara slowly. 
“Now I want to know what you mean to do.” 

“ I must know all the reasons,” said the old 
woman. 

“ I am not at liberty to give you the reasons.” 

“ But, Clary, my girl, you’ve done an awful 
thing — something that will bring you under 
the power of the law. Am I to stand the dis- 
grace of having one of my own locked up in 
one of her Majesty’s prisons and going through 
penal servitude, and being spoke of in all the 
papers ? I’m poor, but I’m honest, and I has 
a respectable name, and this thing will kill me, 
that’s what it will.” 

“Well, mother, if you keep the secret the 


A Black Crime. 


271 


catastrophe you dread will never happen,” said 
Clara. “You have only to keep it faithfully, 
and all will be well.” 

“ That's very fine,” said the little woman ; 
“ but the secret worrits me. Why should the 
boy be cut out of his own ? ” 

“ It is absolutely necessary that for the 
present he must remain unknown to his rela- 
tives,” said Clara. “ It is a deep and a dread- 
ful plot, mother, but it is too late to go back 
now. I may as well confess that I am bitterly 
sorry I ever took part in it.” 

“ It’s worse than a plot— it’s a black crime,” 
said the little woman. “Why, there’s the 
mother of the boy mourning him as if he were 
dead, and there was the old housekeeper crying 
fit to break her heart, and the young lady who 
has come in for all the money, she looked as 
sad as sad could be when she spoke of him, 
and they’re putting up a tablet to him in the 
old church. Clary, it’s past bearing. ’Tain’t 
likely as I’ll keep it burdening my soul. Even 
for you I can’t do that.” 

“You’ll do great and terrible mischief if you 
let out what you know,” said Clara. 

“ But why did you do it. Clary ? ’Pon my 
word, to think that a girl of mine should have 
grown up such a desperate woman. You was 
always masterful as a little ’un, but I didn’t 
think you’d stoop to open sfn— the sort of sin, 
that means, to be tried and put in prison. 


272 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

Why, it’s very near murder. What do it all 
mean, Clary ? ” 

“ It means something dreadful,” said Mrs. 
Tarbot ; “ but I have put my hand to it, and 
it is too late to turn back now.” 

“ But why did you do it ? ” 

“ Look at me, mother.” 

“ I do look at you. Lm a-staring at you, 
and I don’t think you look at all well. You’re 
drawn and pale in the face past knowing. It’s 
ugly to see the skin stretched as tight as that. 
To be sure, you has a beautiful dress on, far 
too grand for my taste — it looks something 
like a snake’s skin. Why on earth did you 
choose that color ? Oh, dearie me, Clara, I 
wouldn’t know you. I never did think you’d 
grow up so wicked. It’s a pity the good God 
didn’t take you when you was so bad with the 
croup that time, when you was a little mite. 
Oh, I prayed mighty ’ard that you might be 
spared, but I wish now to my heart that I 
hadn’t.” 

“ There’s no good in regretting the past, 
mother. I am as I am. I don’t pretend to 
be a good woman.” 

“No, that you ain’t. You’re a rare bad ’un. 
I wish I’d never brought you into the world. 
It’s terrible to think what you ha’ done — it’s 
terrible.” 

The poor old lady began to sob ; she was 
shaken to her very depths. Presently she 


A Black Crime. 273 

raised her trembling old hand, and laid it on 
her daughter s cold hngers. 

“Give it up, Clary,’’ she said. “Confess 
your sin, and give it up.” 

“ I cannot do what you want, mother.” 

“ Why can’t you ?” 

“ I cannot.” 

. “ You haven’t told me yet why you done 
it at all.” 

“Very well. I’ll tell you. I suppose I was 
mad at the time. Mother, did you ever love 
anybody ?” 

“ Did I ever love anybody ? Lawk a mercy ! 
to be sure I did. I loved your poor father, 
and I loved my children when they come, 
and I love you now, though you are such a 
bad 'un, and I love that little chap. What 
does this mean ? ” 

“ I want you to consider, mother. The sort 
of love you’re speaking about is not what I 
mean. When you were engaged to my father, 
and when you married him, did you ever feel 
that you would have committed even a crime if he 
wanted it, just because you loved him so well ? ” 

“ A mercy me ! no,” said the little woman. 
She rose now and dropped a curtsey. “ My 
word ! you are upsettin’, Clary. To be sure 
I loved Thomas. He was a good man when 
he wasn’t in his tantrums, but as to committing 
a crime for him, no, no, nothing of that sort. 
I wouldn’t have sinned for him, not I.” 

18 


274 the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ Then you don’t understand anything about 
desperate, passionate love,” said the younger 
woman. “ You don’t understand the love I 
feel. I love Luke, for years I have loved him. 
What I did was m.y one and only chance of 
winning him.” 

“ Then you’re a greater fool than I gave you 
credit for,” said the old woman. “ It’s all past 
bearing, and I don’t think I can keep the secret 
any longer.” 

“ Sleep over it, mother,” said Clara. “ You 
are tired. I will get you a room ready for you.” 

“ Oh, I’d be frightened to sleep in this grand 
house. I’ll go out and get a lodging near by.” 

“No, you won’t. I won’t have it said that 
I turned my own mother out of doors at this 
hour. You must sleep here. Come, I’ll take 
you up-stairs.” 

“ You are as masterful as of old. Clary ; but, 
dear heart, I don’t like sleeping in a house of 
this sort. However, as it’s late, and if you 
promise to give me the smallest room and the 
plainest you has. I’ll stay.” 

“ Yes ; I can give you a nice little dressing- 
room beyond mine, with a snug bed in it. I’ll 
have a fire lit.” 

“ Sakes alive ! don’t give me a fire in my 
bedroom. I hates ’em past bearing, they’re 
not healthy.” 

“ Very well, mother, just as you please, but 
it’s late now, and you must rest.” 


A Black Crime. 


275 


Clara took her mother up-stairs, gave her 
every requisite for the night, and left her. 
Then she went to her own room. Prepared 
as she supposed herself to be for every possi- 
ble emergency, it had not occurred to her that 
her mother would first discover her secret and 
then refuse to keep it. 

She knew that the present danger was great. 
Whatever she herself might resolve to do in 
the future it would never, never do for her 
mother to forestall her. The child must be 
removed from the old woman, and if Mrs. Ives 
did not promise to respect Clara’s secret she 
would have to be deprived of her liberty. To' 
do this was no easy matter. 


276 On the Brink of a Chasm. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE “PELHAM ARMS.” 

On the following morning at an early hour 
Tarbot, knowing nothing of the arrival of Mrs. 
Ives, went down to Devonshire. He left the 
train at the little station of Haversham, and, 
taking a trap, drove straight to the “ Pelham 
Arms’' in the village of Great Pelham, which 
went by this name in contradistinction to Little 
Pelham, which was four miles distant at the 
other side of Pelham Towers. 

Having secured the best room which the 
“ Pelham Arms ” boasted of, Tarbot proceeded 
to make himself comfortable. He ordered a 
good dinner, unpacked his traps, and then took 
a stroll to reconnoiter the place. He knew 
Pelham Towers well, having been there in his 
boyhood, and he wished now to revisit his old 
haunts, and prepare for the campaign which 
he had set himself. 

As he was returning to the inn, just as the 
dusk was falling, a carriage passed him. The 
occupants of the carriage were Barbara and 
Mrs. Pelham. There was still light enough for 


The “ Pelham Arms.’ 


277 


them to recognize him. Barbara desired the 
carriage to stop, and Tarbot went up to speak 
to the two ladies. 

“What are you doing here?” asked Bar- 
bara. 

“ I have come down on special business,” 
he replied. “ I have a^ matter I want to con- 
sult you about,” he added, looking full at Mrs. 
Pelham. 

“ Certainly,” she answered. 

Then Barbara spoke. 

“ Why did you not tell us, Dr. Tarbot ? We 
could have put you up at the Towers.” 

“ Thank you,” he replied ; “but I have taken 
a very comfortable room at the ‘ Pelham 
Arms.’” 

Barbara paused for a moment. She did not 
like Tarbot, and was sorry he had come to Great 
Pelham, but as he was there she felt she must 
be civil to him. 

“You will dine with us to-night?” she said, 
bending out of the carriage as she spoke and 
looking at him. 

He glanced full up into her lovely eyes. Her 
face caused his heart to beat wildly. 

“ I will come,” he said in a hoarse voice. 

Barbara could not but observe his agitation. 
She repented of having asked him. 

“ We dine at seven,” she said coldly, falling 
back into her seat as she spoke. “We shall 
expect you at that hour.” 


278 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

He answered in the affirmative, and the car- 
riage bowled rapidly away. 

With his heart still beating faster than usual, 
the man returned to the inn. The moment 
had come for him to strike his great blow, but 
the look in Barbara’s eyes disarmed him. After 
all, he need even now do nothing. In his hand 
lay potent and terrible possibilities — the power 
to quench the happiness in those eyes, the 
power to drive that young heart to the verge 
of madness. After all, Pelham was only the 
instrument with which he (Tarbot) should strike 
at Barbara’s heart. If only even now she would 
be kind to him— a little kind— he might recon- 
sider the situation ; but then he began to say 
to himself that she had never been unkind, 
never since he had known her. It had always 
been her way to be gentle and sweet, she was 
that to all the world. He did not want her 
sweetness ; her indifference nearly maddened 
him — she was sweet because she was indiffer- 
ent. He would rather have her hatred than 
her indifference. Yes, hatred was better than 
the condition which means neither love nor 
hate. When he did what he meant to do, she 
would hate him. In all the future of her life 
he would stand before her as a monster who 
had dragged her husband to disgrace, ruin, 
and death. 

Yes, better that feeling than the present. 
The time would come when she would plead 


The “ Pelham Arms.” 279 

with him. To see her at his feet pleading, im- 
ploring, beseeching of him to withhold his 
hand — ah, then indeed his revenge would be 
accomplished. His heart quickened, he felt 
happy, at being so far away from Clara. When 
he thought of Clara his determination not to 
spare Barbara grew and intensified in force. 
Had he not married Clara in order to promote 
his vengeance ? If Barbara had married him, as 
he had once told her, he would have been a good 
man. She had rejected him, and he was a bad 
one. On her own head the blame must fall. 

He wandered about, too restless to go in- 
doors, too restless to accept the invitation of 
the jolly landlord of the “ Pelham Arms ” to 
go into the bar parlor and have a smoke, too 
restless to do anything but long intensely for 
the moment when he might go up to the 
Towers and look at Barbara. 

The time flew by, the hour arrived. He 
dressed with care. He put a light overcoat 
over his evening suit and walked the short dis- 
tance from the “ Arms to the Towers. He 
arrived at the old place a few minutes before 
seven o’clock. He was shown at once into the 
rose drawing-room, a lovely apartment with 
oriel windows of colored glass fashioned in 
the shape of roses. The rose drawing-room 
opened into wide conservatories, the doors of 
which were unclosed, and the scent of many 
exotics filled the beautiful room. 


28 o On the Brink of a Chasm. 

Barbara, in a dress of white silk, stood near 
the hearth. Neither Pelham nor Mrs. Pelham 
had yet made their appearance. Barbara came 
a step forward when Tarbot entered. 

“How is your wife?” she asked. She 
could scarcely have made a remark more dis- 
pleasing to Tarbot. He frowned and bit his 
lips, then he answered shortly : 

“ My wife is well, thank you.” 

“ Do you intend to make a long stay in 
Devonshire ? ” was Barbara’s next common- 
place remark. 

He answered that circumstances would de- 
cide that. Just then Mrs. Pelham came into 
the room, followed by Dick. Dinner was an- 
nounced, and the party went into the dining 
hall. The meal was a subdued one. Pelham’s 
antipathy to Tarbot made itself felt. Notwith- 
standing all his efforts, he could not be cordial 
to his unwelcome guest. The men remained 
for a short time over wine, and joined the 
ladies soon afterwards in the drawing-room. 
The moment they did so, Barbara went up to 
her husband, slipped her hand inside his arm, 
and led him into the conservatory. Tarbot 
had hoped to have a few moments’ conversation 
with her. He bit his lips as he saw what this 
movement meant. 

“ She hates me ; she cannot bear even to 
give me ordinary civilities,” he said to himself. 
“ So much the better for my purpose.” 


The “ Pelham Arms/’ 281 

The next instant he found himself in a low 
chair by Mrs. Pelham’s side. 

“You said you wished to see me, Dr. Tar- 
bot,” she said. 

“ I do,” he replied. “ I am anxious to have 
an interview with you on a matter of grave 
importance.” 

“ Your looks frighten me,” she said. “What 
can be very important to me now ? ” 

“ What I am about to tell you will be of the 
greatest importance. What time to-morrow 
can we have our interview ?” 

“ Whatever time will suit you. Dr. Tarbot. 
Your time is mine. I am not specially engaged 
in any way. It is true that Barbara wants me 
to go with her to Exeter to choose presents for 
the villagers’ Christmas tree, but there is no 
special hurry, and we can postpone our visit. 
I shall be at your disposal. Will you come 
here at eleven o’clock ? ” 

“ Would it be possible for you to come to 
me ?” 

“Why?” 

“ I have reasons which you will appreciate.” 

“ Certainly, if you wish,” she replied. 

“ I can secure a sitting-room where we can 
be quite alone at the ‘ Pelham Arms.’ May I 
expect you at eleven o’clock to-morrow ? ” 

“Yes,” replied the widow. 

At that moment Barbara and Pelham entered 
the room. Barbara sat down at the open 


282 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

piano and began to sing. She sang several 
times, and her voice was rich, full, and pleasing. 
Dick went and stood by her side. Between 
the songs he and she spoke together in low 
tones, just as if they were lovers. Presently 
Tarbot, making an effort, went up and joined the 
group. He could talk well, and he exerted him- 
self now to be agreeable. Presently his efforts 
met their reward. Barbara ceased to distrust 
him. He spoke of people and matters which 
only Londoners would appreciate. Barbara 
asked questions, put in suggestions, and en- 
joyed the doctor’s clever epitome of society 
gossip. 

Dick scarcely spoke. He was never much 
of a talker, and his dislike to Tarbot increased 
moment by moment. Once more the old sus- 
picions returned to him. Had the child come 
by his death through natural causes ? Pelham 
had to remind himself of what the two great 
consultants and the chemist had said before 
his usual equanimity reasserted itself. 

Soon after ten o’clock Tarbot took his leave. 
He shook hands first with Barbara, then he 
went up to Mrs. Pelham. 

“ I shall expect you to-morrow,” he said. 

“ I shall be with you at eleven o’clock,” she 
replied. He then left the room, Dick accom- 
panying him as far as the hall door. 

The moment Barbara and Mrs. Pelham were 
alone Barbara spoke. 


The “ Pelham Arms.” 283 

“ I am glad that is over,” she said. 

“Why do you dislike him, Barbara?” 

“ I cannot explain what I feel about him,” 
said Barbara impatiently. “ By the way was 
he making an appointment with you ? I 
thought we were to go to Exeter to-morrow.” 

“ I hope, dear, that you will not mind put- 
ting off the expedition until Friday, or, if that 
is very inconvenient, will you go without 
me?” 

“ Of course I will put it off if there is any 
good reason for it,” said Barbara. “We can 
go on Friday quite as well as to-morrow.” 

“ Dr. Tarbot wants to leave for London on 
Friday morning,” said Mrs. Pelham, “ and as 
he wishes to see me on a matter of business I 
appointed to-morrow at eleven o’clock.” 

“Well,” said Barbara, tapping her fingers 
lightly on the mantelpiece, “ we must ask him 
to lunch, I suppose. I frankly confess that I 
shall be glad when he goes.” 

“ I fear he must have guessed your feelings 
towards him, for he refuses to come here. He 
has asked me to meet him at the ‘ Pelham 
Arms.’ ” 

Barbara said nothing further, for at that mo- 
ment her husband reentered the room. 

The next day at the appointed hour Mrs. 
Pelham put on berthings and prepared to walk 
to the “ Pelham Arms.” Pelham met her in 
the avenue and asked where she was going. 


284 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ To the ‘ Pelham Arms/ to meet Luke 
Tarbot.” 

“ Why doesn’t he come here ? ” said Pelham. 
“He ought not to order you about in that 
style.” 

“ He didn’t order me, Dick. I invited him 
here, knowing that you and Barbara would give 
me free leave to do so.” 

“ Of course,” said Pelham. 

“ But he preferred seeing me at the ‘ Arms,’ 
and as I had no excuse to offer, I of course 
agreed. I shall be back before long. Good- 
by.” 

“ Won’t you have the carriage ? ” called Dick 
after her. 

“ No, it is a lovely morning, and I shall enjoy 
the walk.” 

Mrs. Pelham reached the “ Pelham Arms ” 
at three minutes to eleven. Tarbot was waiting 
for her, he was standing on the steps, a cigar 
in his mouth. When he saw her he threw 
away the cigar and came forward to meet her. 
His face was white, his lips looked thinner than 
ever, and his eyes had a strained expression. 

“ I have secured a private sitting-room,” he 
said ; “ we shall be quite undisturbed. Come 
this way.” 

Mrs. Pelham wondered what Tarbot wanted 
with her, and what news could affect her seri- 
ously now that the child was dead ; she felt 
distressed and nervous. 


The “ Pelham Arms/' 285 

Trembling a little, she followed the doctor 
into a small room, at the back of the bar. It 
smelt of cheese and stale beer. Tarbot went 
to the window and threw it open. There was 
a fire in the grate. 

“ That makes the atmosphere more tolerable,” 
he said. “lam sorry I could not invite you 
to a nicer room.” 

“ The room matters nothing,” said Mrs. 
Pelham. She untied her cloak as she spoke 
and threw back the crepe strings of her bonnet. 
Her crepe veil was up, her face looked pallid 
and her dark eyes full of apprehension. 

“ What is it, Luke ? This mystery unnerves 
me.” 

“I have some painful news to give you,” he 
said ; “ the best way is to tell you quite simply 
what I have discovered.” 

“What is that?” 

“You remember that I asked you to let me 
have the bottle which contained the medicine 
little Piers took just before he died ? ” 

“ I remember quite well, and you took all the 
medicine bottles away. You said you wanted 
to work up your case. What is it, Luke, what 
is the matter ? ” 

“ Something very grave has happened,” he 
replied. “ I have hesitated for some weeks to 
tell you. The fact is, I have known this for 
over a month ; my wife also knows it, for I had 
to confide in her. For a time I thought I 


286 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


would keep the whole matter to myself, but 
I found that my conscience would not rest. 
It seems to me you ought to know, that you 
are the one to decide. The thing haunts 
me. I can bear it no longer. That is the 
reason why I could not come to Pelham 
Towers to talk the matter over with you, for 
it concerns — Richard Pelham." 

“ But what is it, Luke ? I wish you would 
speak out. I hate people to beat about the 
bush. You have discovered something in the 
bottle of medicine. By the way, Dick was 
very queer when he spoke about that medi- 
cine." 

“ No wonder," said Tarbot. “ He came to 
you about it, then ? Ye^, I remember, he told 
me so." 

“ He did. He said he wanted to get the 
medicine analyzed. It was a strange wish of 
his, and it puzzled me at the time. Just as if 
the dear child had come by his death by foul 
means ! Luke, what is it ?" 

Mrs. Pelham had been seated. Now she 
stood upright, for something in the face of 
the doctor had overbalanced her self-control. 
Holding out both her hands, she clasped those 
of Luke Tarbot. 

“ Sit down ; control yourself," he said. “ I 
have bad news. I analyzed the medicine. I 
found hyocene in it." 

“ Hyocene ? What is that ? " 


The “ Pelham Arms.” 287 

“ A deadly poison.*’ 

“ Luke ! *’ 

Mrs. Pelham had a dim feeling that the 
curtain was going to be lifted from something 
awful ; the room seemed to go round. She 
raised her hand and passed it across her brows. 

“ I cannot see,” she cried. “ The room is 
very hot.” 

“ I will open the window wider ; take this 
chair. You will understand what I have told 
you in a moment.” 

She did not speak, but, sinking back into 
the chair, closed her eyes. Tarbot flung the 
window wide open, poured out a glass of water 
and brought it to her. 

“ You will recover in a moment,” he said. 
“ I knew it would be a terrible shock, and I 
felt that it was best for you to see me here and 
alone.” 

“ Tell me again,” she said after a moment. 
“ There was in that medicine— what ? ” 

“ Hyocene.” 

“And that is ?” 

“ A deadly poison.” 

“ And the child took it ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ But who put it there, Luke ; who put it 
there?” 

“ Mrs. Pelham, that is the question which in 
my opinion the law must decide. One thing 
at least is clear— the man who gave the boy his 


288 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

first and last dose out of that bottle was Rich- 
ard Pelham.” 

“ No,” said the widow. She clasped her 
hands before her face. “ Impossible ! ” she 
cried. “ You cannot mean it. Dick ! Dick 
give poison to my boy ! No, no ! ” 

“ It is true,” said Tarbot. “ You must nerve 
yourself to meet the truth. The boy has to be 
avenged. I can stand the secret no longer — I 
had to tell you. Sir Richard Pelham gave him 
the dose.” 


Circumstantial Evidence. 


289 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 

After an hour of earnest whispered con- 
versation Mrs. Pelham rose. 

“ I cannot return to the Towers,” she said. 

“Why not? Your absence will look 
strange.” 

“ I cannot help it. It is impossible for me 
to face either Barbara or Dick. I shall go to 
London with you.” 

Tarbot considered for a moment. It had 
not occurred to him that Mrs. Pelham would 
do this, but after a little thought he considered 
it a wise step. 

“ Very well,” he said. “ I am not greatly 
surprised ; but what about your things ? ” 

“ I will send a note to my maid. She will 
pack them and follow me this evening. I will 
go to town with you. Dr. Tarbot. When does 
the next train start ? ” 

Tarbot sent for a time-table. The next 
train would leave Haversham within an 
hour. 

“You must have some lunch before you 
19 


290 On the Brink of a Chasm, 

start, and then wc will drive over to the sta- 
tion,” he said. 

Mrs. Pelham bowed her head in acquies- 
cence. Her face looked gray and her eyes 
strained, and there was a tense expression 
about her lips as though she were keeping her 
self-control with a mighty effort. 

When the lunch was brought in she man- 
aged to eat a little, schooling herself to do so. 
Then a trap was found, and the pair drove to 
the station. Mrs. Pelham had written a brief 
note to Barbara and also one to her maid. In 
'Barbara’s letter she had simply said — 

“ Unexpected news obliges me to hurry to 
town. Will write more fully on my arrival.” 

When they got to the station Tarbot took a 
first class ticket for himself and another for 
Mrs. Pelham. He tipped the guard to reserve 
the carriage, and they traveled up to London 
alone. Just as they neared the metropolis Mrs. 
Pelham bent forward and touched Tarbot’s 
hand with her fingers. 

“ I have made up my mind,” she said. “ I 
will avenge the death.” 

“ I aril glad of it,” said Tarbot. “ I thought 
you would feel so and act so. I knew there 
was no other course open to you.” 

“ I have not the least idea how to proceed,” 
continued Mrs. Pelham, “ but I shall not rest 
day or night until Richard Pelham is arrested. 
I have thought over all that you have told me, 


Circumstantial Evidence. 291 

and the evidence seems conclusive. Dick’s 
gloom, his unaccountable and strange misery, 
all that took place immediately after the death 
of the child, can only be accounted for in the 
one way. It is fearful ; but there is not the 
slightest doubt that the circumstantial evidence 
against Dick is of the strongest nature. Yes, 
I must take the necessary steps to bring hirn 
to justice, and at once.” 

“You are doing the right thing,” said Tar- 
bot. “ A life for a life, remember. You have 
the authority of Scripture for what you are 
about to do.” 

Mrs. Pelham shivered and covered her face 
with her hands. 

“ I loved him well,” she continued. “ This 
very morning as I sat by his side at breakfast 
I noticed how kind he looked. Dr. Tarbot, 
are you sure of what you are telling me ? ” 

“I am certain. The circumstantial evi- 
dence is so strong that it will hang him.” 

“ Great Heaven ! If Dick dies by the hand 
of the hangman I believe I shall go mad. I 
feel almost as if he were a son to me.” 

“ Think what he did, and your feelings will 
alter.” 

“That is true. I hate him already. Oh, 
my heart is torn.” 

“ You will be better when you have done 
what is right,” said Tarbot. “ He will hang 
for this.” 


292 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

As the man spoke his lips slowly moved 
apart. A diabolical smile flitted across his 
face. 

“ You will guide me,” said Mrs. Pelham. 
“ You will tell me what steps to take ? ” 

“ No, I must not do that. You must con- 
sult your own lawyer.” 

“ What, Mr. Carroll ? He was one of dear 
little Piers’s guardians.” 

“ Carroll is a barrister, is he not ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ You must put your affairs into the hands 
of an able solicitor. Doubtless, Carroll will 
tell you the right man.” 

Mrs. Pelham was silent. 

“ When we reach town you had better go 
straight to Carroll and ask his advice. He 
will tell you the proper man to employ. You 
must have a very smart criminal solicitor. If 
possible, you had better instruct Wilkinson. 
You must have a criminal barrister also — 
Chartris is your man.” 

“ Is all this necessary ? ” 

“ Indispensable.” 

“ Then I will go to Mr. Carroll when I get 
to town.” 

“ Do so. Carroll will give you all the neces- 
sary counsel. Pelham ought to be arrested 
as quickly as possible.” 

“ Yes.” Mrs. Pelham clasped her hands 
together convulsively. 


Circumstantial Evidence. 293 

“ I have come up to town for no other pur- 
pose/’ she continued. “ I shall not rest day 
or night until my darling’s most cruel murder 
has been avenged.” 

“ When you speak like that you act as a 
brave and noble woman. A life for a life, 
remember. I will be your friend through all.” 

“ Thank you.” 

The train arrived at Paddington. Tarbot 
saw Mrs. Pelham into a cab, and the driver 
was desired to go straight to Carroll’s cham- 
bers in Holies Street. 

Carroll happened to be in, and he saw Mrs. 
Pelham at once. Her agitation and the strained 
look on her face frightened him. He asked 
her to sit down, and questioned her eagerly as 
to what was the matter. 

“ I have come to consult you about the most 
awful matter,” she said. 

“What is it, Mrs. Pelham? What can 
possibly agitate you to such a fearful ex- 
tent ? ” 

“It is something that Luke Tarbot has just 
told me. On hearing the news I came to 
town. Luke Tarbot has discovered that my 
child, my little Piers, came by his death by 
the administration of a most subtle poison. 
An awful stuff called hyocene was put into his 
medicine.” 

“ Impossible ! ” said Carroll. “ Who has 
told you this ? ” 


294 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ Dr. Tarbot. For some reason he had 
his suspicions, and he analyzed the medi- 
cine.” 

“ But Tarbot was the doctor who attended 
the case. He ordered the medicine to be 
given himself. The man must be mad.” 

“ He says the hyocene must have been put 
into the medicine after it arrived from the 
chemist’s. But the terrible fact that I am 
coming to is this. Dr. Tarbot says that Dick 
did it.” 

“ Richard Pelham ! ” cried Carroll. “ Rich- 
ard Pelham try to murder Piers ! Impossible, 
monstrous 1 My dear madam, you are the 
subject of a terrible hallucination.” 

“I wish I were.” The poor woman clasped 
and unclasped her hands. Her face was full 
of terror and distress. 

“ It is true,” she repeated. “ I could not 
believe it myself at first, but I do now. The 
circumstantial evidence is fearfully strong, 
and it is all against Dick. I must prosecute 
him. My child’s death must be avenged. I 
have come to town for the purpose.” 

“ Where is Tarbot ? When did he bring 
you this cock-and-bull story ? ” 

“It is not a cock-and-bull story. You may 
think so at first, but you wdl not when you 
know all. Dick was in a fearful state after the 
death— his agitation was unnatural. It points 
strongly to his guilt.” 


Circumstantial Evidence. 295 

“ Not to those who know the man,” said 
Carroll. 

“ I should be more than thankful if anybody 
could clear him,” replied Mrs. Pelham, “but 
at present I think, nay, more, I am certain he 
is guilty.” 

“You are overwrought, and no wonder,” 
said Carroll kindly. “ Of course, I will look 
into this matter. You must leave it to me. 
Will you stay here while I interview Tar- 
bot?” 

“ You will find him at his house in Harley 
Street. Yes, I will remain here until you 
return.” 

“ That is good. I will order the servants to 
bring you some refreshment. You must have 
something, it is necessary for you to husband 
your strength. I will be off at once now to 
Tarbot and then return to you.” 

Carroll left the room. He was absent 
nearly an hour. At the end of that time he 
came back, and his face was very grave. 

“ I saw Tarbot,” he said, “ and he has cer- 
tainly confided a strange tale to me. I don't 
even now believe in Dick's guilt ; but you are 
right, Mrs. Pelham — the circumstantial evi- 
dence is terribly strong. Have you quite made 
up your mind to prosecute ?” 

“ I have. Can I allow the child’s death to 
be unavenged ? ” 

“ I have not a word to say if such is your 


296 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

wish. I will take you now to a solicitor whom 
I know.*' 

“ Dr. Tarbot wishes me to consult a solicitor 
of the name of Wilkinson.” 

“ He is a smart man, but I think I piefer 
Cornish. John Cornish is very just, and has 
had a vast amount of criminal practise.” 

“ Just as you please, Mr. Carroll. I will put 
myself into your hands.” 

“ Then we’ll go to Cornish. I will have a 
hansom whistled for, and we’ll drive there at 
once.” 

Mrs. Pelham rose. In a few moments’ time 
the pair were driving in the direction of Cor- 
nish’s chambers in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. They 
found him at home. Carroll had a brief inter- 
view with the lawyer first ; afterwards Cornish 
saw the widow and took her instructions. 

“ I will get a warrant immediately from the 
magistrate of the district where the child died,” 
he said. “ Sir Richard Pelham will be arrested 
early to-morrow morning.” 


The Bolt. 


^97 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE BOLT. 

It wanted now but three days to Christmas, 
and Pelham and his wife were very busy. 
They were happy in their new life, and all 
Pelham’s suspicions had rolled away like 
a cloud on a summer’s morning. He was 
sorry for Piers, sorry for the child’s early 
death, but his own life now fully occupied 
him. 

Pelham was a good fellow. He was married 
to the girl he loved. Day by day he saw more 
of the charm and beauty of her character — 
she was all his. To pour his riches at her feet, 
to surround her with glory and honor were 
his delight. Yes, he would live a good life, 
the best life of all, for the sake of his tenantry 
and for the sake of Barbara. 

Mrs. Pelham’s message and her sudden de- 
parture puzzled the young couple. 

“ What can it mean ? ” said Barbara. “ Mrs. 
Pelham was not going to leave us until long 
after Christmas. My mother arrives to-mor- 
row. What can be the matter ? ” 


298 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ She doubtless had her reasons,” said Pel- 
ham. “ She will write and tell you when she 
gets to town.” 

“ I wonder what Dr. Tarbot really wanted 
with her ? ” continued Barbara. 

Pelham drew his wife to his side. 

“ Don’t let us talk about Tarbot,” he said. 

“Why so?” 

“ I dislike the man so cordially. What 
about that Christmas tree ? ” 

Barbara brightened up. 

“ I shall go into Exeter to-day,” she said, 
“and I will buy the things necessary for 
the ' tree there. Will you come with me, 
Dick?” 

“ I cannot. I have to see Manson about 
the lease for the South Meadow Farm. It is a 
lovely day, and you may as well drive over to 
Exeter. The horses are eating their heads off, 
and a long run will do them good.” 

The pair had this conversation in their room 
before they went down to breakfast. On the 
breakfast table several letters awaited them. 
Amongst others was one from Mrs. Evershed. 
In this she announced her intention of arriving 
at Pelham Towers b}^ a certain train in the 
afternoon. 

“ I did not know that mother would choose 
that train,” said Barbara. “ As that is the case, 
Dick, I will go to Exeter by train, for I can 
just fit things in, and return in time to join 


The Bolt. 


299 

mother at Haversham station. We will then 
drive home together.” 

“ Very well, dear, as you like.” 

“ I shall buy quite a cartload of things,” said 
Barbara, laughing as she spoke. “ I want this 
Christmas tree to be the best the children ha\e 
ever seen. You may as well select a fir tree 
for the purpose when you take your rounds 
this morning, Dick.” 

“ All right,” he answered. 

Barbara having finished her breakfast went 
to the window. 

“ How lovely things are looking ! ” she said. 
“ But it is cold. I should not be surprised if 
we had a fall of snow.” 

Pelham joined his wife at the window. A 
fairer scene could scarcely be found in the 
length and breadth of England. The place 
was covered with hoar frost, the rolling lawns 
were skirted by great forest trees, there was a 
lake in the distance, and a range of low-lying 
hills stood out against the horizon. The high 
road wound like a white ribbon through the 
heart of the landscape. There was a peace 
and a great silence over the scene. A robin 
was hopping about on a bough near by look- 
ing for his breakfast. Barbara opened the 
window and threw out some crumbs. 

“ It is all lovely, lovely,” she said. “ Don’t 
forget about the tree this morning, Dick. Let 
it be a right royal one for the sake of dear 


300 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

little Piers. I am going to give the Christmas 
tree in his memory, and I mean to talk about 
him to the children.” 

Pelham said nothing, and a thoughtful 
look passed over his face. For a moment 
his eyes became full of gloorh, but Barbara 
was too happy in her own reflections to notice 
this. 

“ Good-by, dear,” she said. “ I must 
hurry off. I have to give some directions 
about mother’s room, and I shall try to catch 
the 1 1. 10 train.” 

She ran out of the room singing a light song 
under her breath. Dick Pelham stood for a 
moment where she had left him. Then, whis- 
tling to his dogs, he went out. 

For the rest of the morning many duties 
kept him busy, for he was an ideal landlord, 
and looked into the smallest details himself, 
but he found time to see Barbara off on her 
expedition to Exeter. She was to drive to the 
station, about four miles away. 

“ God bless her ! ” said Pelham as he 
watched the ponies, with their ringing bells, 
trot down the avenue and then disappear from 
view. His dogs still following him, he saun- 
tered down the avenue. He was to meet his 
steward within an hour, but there was still 
plenty of time. He had gone about a hundred 
yards when an old man was seen hobbling up 
the drive. 


The Bolt. 


301 

Well, Crayshaw, and what do you want ? ” 
said Dick, pausing in his walk. 

The old man gazed up at him with bleared 
and red eyes. 

“You’ve got over it, and I’m glad,” he re- 
marked. 

“ Got over it ! Got over what ? What do 
you mean, my good fellow?” 

“ It’s nigh upon the blessed Christmas, the 
birth of Christ, and I want to unburden my 
soul. I listed when I ought not.” 

“ You listened ! What do you mean ?” 

“ I saw you, Sir Richard, that night you went 
down into the vault, the night the child was 
buried. I saw you, and what’s more, I heard 
yoy. You was ter’ble upset. For a man who 
had just come in for a title and a lot of money, 
you was upset past natural. Yes, yes. I saw 
it and I heard, and I want to unburden my 
soul now. You was ter’ble upset. Sir Rich- 
ard.” 

Pelham colored with annoyance. 

“Where did you say you were ?” he asked 
after a pause. 

“Just ahint the old yew tree. Oh, I never 
told, never except once, and that to an old 
woman, a strange old body who didn’t know 
these parts. She come here a month back. 
I told her and she was ter’ble interested. It 
was wonderful for a man like you to go right 
down into the vault, and then to groan. Your 


302 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


groans down there was enough to turn a body’s 
head. I won t deny that the frights didn’t taka 
hold of me, for they did, and I run home with 
my hands to my ears and trusting that none of 
the sperrits of the dead and gone Pelhams 
would come after me. But you’re better now, 
you’re all right now. You has accepted your 
riches in a thankful sperrit, and that's as it 
ought to be.” 

“Yes, things are as they ought to be,” said 
Pelham after a pause. “ See, here, Crayshaw, 
don’t talk about this matter. I will own that 
I was much upset that time. Plere’s a sover- 
eign for you. You understand what I mean, 
Crayshaw — keep your own counsel.” 

“ A word to the wise is allers enough,” mum- 
bled the old man out of his almost toothless 
gums. He clutched hold of the sovereign 
and slipped it into his pocket. As he hobbled 
away he said to himself — 

“ Seems to me this ’ere secret of mine is 
going to become waluable. I got a shilling 
from that old woman, and here’s a sovrin now 
from the guv’nor. I’ll make use of this secret 
seems to me.” 

He hobbled away to find the nearest public- 
house, in order to spend a portion of the 
money. As he sipped his mug of beer he 
nodded mysteriously to his companions and 
told them that he had suddenly discovered a 
little mine of gold, but he did not tell them 


The Bolt. 


303 

what it was ; he only excited their curiosity to 
a considerable extent. 

As the old man disappeared up the avenue 
Pelham turned to the left. He did not know 
himself why he did so, but the old man’s 
words had disturbed him and brought back 
some of the melancholy which had caused his 
early married days to be so miserable. 

“ What a fool I was ! ” he said to himself. 
“ It was really a case of nerves, for if ever a 
man was possessed of a mad frenzy to his 
own undoing, I was that fellow. I felt certain 
when I went down into that vault that a mur- 
dered child lay there. The thought maddened 
me. Money was nothing to me, even Barbara 
did not seem of the slightest consequence. 
To win her was little to me then. I was full 
of the one sole maddening fear that Piers had 
come by his death by foul means. But those 
two great consultants in London set me 
straight, and the chemist finished the busi- 
ness. It is odd though that I still distrust 
Tarbot. 

“What did he come sneaking down here 
about, and why did Mrs. Pelham go off to town 
so suddenly ? I hate the man still and I dis- 
trust him more than ever. He would do me a 
mischief if he could— not a doubt of that. By 
the way— I am sorry old Crayshaw heard me 
groaning in the vault. ” Dick paused in his 
rapid thoughts to go up to the tomb of his an- 


304 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

cestors and bend over it. “ By the way,” he 
considered, “ Barbara wishes to have the serv- 
ice in the chapel on Christmas Day. I may 
as well look in and see if it is all right.” 

He entered the chapel, the door of which 
stood open, and went and stood under the 
tablet. He read the inscription to little Piers. 
It was a simple one, and a suitable verse of 
Scripture was engraved under it. He turned 
on his heel and went out. 

In spite of himself, and very much to his 
own wonder, he found little by little his good 
spirits slipping away from him. He could not 
account for this, but he had to admit that it 
"was the case. He entered the little church- 
yard, and crossed again to where the gloomy 
vault of the Pelhams stood. 

“ What a hideous place I ” he said to himself. 
“ How improved are the modern ideas with 
regard to burial ! ” 

As he stood close to the vault, with his hand 
resting on the stone which contained inscrip- 
tions to his dead and gone ancestors, he 
thought again of that night of terror when he 
had gone down the steps and passed the 
gloomy portals. He remembered the look of 
the place as the lantern threw its strong light 
upon it, the coffins ranged on their shelves, 
some on the floor. He remembered that he 
had trampled on the rotten boards, some of 
which creaked under his weight. Finally he 


The Bolt. 


305 

had stood close to the shelf where the coffin 
of the youngest baronet of the house had just 
been placed. He recalled it all now — the 
damp feel of the place, the weird light from 
his lantern, his own grief and oppression, nay, 
even terror. 

“ I must have been mad at the time,” he said 
to himself. As he said the words a hand was 
laid on his arm. He turned quickly. A man 
in plain clothes, a total stranger, was standing 
near him. 

“Am I right in supposing that I am address- 
ing Sir Richard Pelham ? asked the man. 

“ That is my name,” said Dick. He started 
back as he spoke. “ Who are you ?” he con- 
tinued. “ I do not know your face.” 

“ I am a stranger to these parts, sir ; but I 
have come here to say a word to you.” 

As the man spoke he slipped his hand into 
his pocket and took out something. 

“My mate is waiting outside,” he said 
gravely, “ and I have got a dog-cart handy. I 
have a warrant here for your arrest, sir.” 

“ For my arrest ? ” cried Pelham. 

“ Yes, Sir Richard, for your arrest on sus- 
picion of having murdered the late Sir Piers 
Pelham.” 

The words fell on Dick’s ears without at 
first conveying any impression. The man re- 
peated them. 

“ You had better come quietly, sir,” he con- 
20 


3o6 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

tinned. “As I said just now, I have a trap 
outside, and if we drive off at once to Havers- 
ham station we can take the next train to 
town. Anything you say now, sir, will be used 
against you, so you had best be silent. 

“ Stop a minute. I must think,'' said Pel- 
ham. He took off his soft cap and put up his 
hand to his forehead as if to brush away some 
hair. His brain was in a whirl, but his first 
consecutive and clear thought was for Barbara. 
When she returned home that night he would 
not be there ; she would miss him, she would 
wonder what had become of him. 

“ Of course there is a mistake,” thought the 
young man. “ I don’t quite comprehend it, 
but Barbara, whatever happens, must not be 
frightened.” 

He turned and looked at the man who had 
come to arrest him. 

“ I will go with you, of course,” he said. 
“The matter will doubtless be cleared up im- 
mediately, but I should like first to leave a 
note for my wife. Do you permit it ? ” 

“Yes, sir, provided I come with you to the 
house.” 

“ You need not do that,” said Pelham. He 
shrugged his shoulders, took his pocket-book 
out of his pocket, tore a leaf from it and wrote 
a few words. 

“ Darling,— I am called to town on sudden 


307 


The Bolt. 

business. Do not be uneasy. I hope to re- 
turn to-morrow. 

“Yours, Dick.” 

He folded the note and gave it to a gardener 
who was passing. 

“ Take this to the house,” he said, “ and tell 
the servants to deliver it to your mistress when 
she returns.” 

The man took it without the least appar- 
ent curiosity and went away. Then Pelham 
turned to the police constable. 

“ I am at your service,” he said. “ I presume 
you will not think it necessary to handcuff 
me ? ” 

“ I think you are to be trusted, sir,” said the 
man. 

Pelham nodded, and the ghost of a smile 
flitted across his lips. A moment later he 
was driving to Haversham in the company of 
the two police constables. When they reached 
the station they took tickets in a third-class 
compartment ; one of them tipped the guard 
to allow them to have it to themselves. 

Dick sat in a corner and kept looking out 
at the landscape. Surely this was a dream, 
and he would wake presently to find it was so. 
His thoughts were busy, but not greatly with 
himself. He felt a certain sense of satisfaction. 
His old suspicions were right — there was some- 
thing unnatural about the death of the child 


3o8 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

It was strange why he was arrested. Of course, 
he was the wrong man — Tarbot was the guilty 
person. Why had they arrested him ? This 
journey was unpleasant, but to-morrow, at the 
farthest, before the magistrate, he, Dick Pel- 
ham, would be abundantly cleared. Tarbot, 
beyond doubt, was the guilty person. 


Gone. 


309 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

GONE. 

On the night that Clara Tarbot faced the 
awful fact that she was not long for this world, 
that consumption had claimed her for its prey, 
and when she had also discovered that her 
great secret was in jeopardy, and that at any 
moment her husband’s plans would be brought 
to utter ruin, Mrs. Ives was also restless and 
uneasy. Mrs. Ives did not like sleeping in 
Luke Tarbot’s house. 

It don’t suit me,” said the little woman to 
herself, “a bed like this. I want my feather 
bed. I don’t like these sort of springs under 
me — shaky and unnatural, and mighty like 
earthquakes they seems to me. And I don’t 
like carpets all over the floor, unwholesome 
they is, they don’t let enough air in, and you 
can’t clean ’em often enough, and I hates 
heavy curtains to the winders. 

Finery don’t suit me, nor luxuries— I 
weren’t born to ’em, and the worst of it is that 
Clary, my own darter, don’t suit me neither. 
No, she nor her ’ouse ain’t my sort. I hope to 


310 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

goodness I’ll soon be able to get out of this. 
I’ll get back to Cornwall as fast as ever I can 
go. If I don’t go away she’ll be after wring- 
ing a promise out of me. Well, I just won’t 
make it — I’d rather a deal lose the money. 
What’s money, after all, if it only brings you 
things like this ? My word ! my old bones 
will be shook into a jelly if I lie much longer 
on this bed. I can’t move without the thing 
jumping under me. I’ll be out of this house 
at dawn.” 

Mrs. Ives sat up in bed. The perfectly- 
balanced springs annoyed her much ; finally 
she rose and seated herself on a hard-bottomed 
chair. There were two or three easy chairs 
in the room, but she chose the hard and stiff 
one by preference. 

“ That’s it,” she said. “ Now I’m easy. I 
can turn and twist, and the thing don’t rock 
under me. Now I can think for a bit. Clary, 
my own darter, is agen me, I can see that. 
Well, I’ll be off afore she knows anything 
about it.” 

There was a clock on the mantelpiece. Mrs. 
Ives found herself watching the hours. The 
clock struck one, two, three, then four. When 
it gave out its four strokes Mrs. Ives began to 
tidy herself in front of the glass. She was 
careful not to make the slightest noise. 

“For Clary wor always a light sleeper,” she 
said to herself. She poured a little water with 


Gone. 


311 

great skill and care into the heavy basin, 
grumbling at the weight and beauty of the jug 
as she did so. At each process of her toilet 
she objected more and more to the comforts 
which surrounded her. 

“ I ’ates them soft towels,” she muttered to 
herself, as she dried her face. 

Having dressed and once more arranged 
her little black shawl and her neat poke bon- 
net, the old woman made for the door. She 
took a long time opening it, but she succeeded 
at last. 

Clara, who had been awake until an hour 
before, was now in heavy slumber. This was 
her time for repose. Tarbot was not in the 
house, the servants’ rooms were far away. Mrs. 
Ives stole like a thief down-stairs. Step by 
step she went, holding her candle high and 
looking straight before her. 

“Dear heart, what a gloomy sort of place ! 
If this is what grandeur and riches mean, give 
me poverty,” she muttered to herself. “ Clary, 
you don’t get no promise out of me.” 

By and by she reached the hall, and the 
next moment found herself standing by the 
door. It was bolted and chained, but Mrs. 
Ives saw to her relief that it was not locked. 
She could manage to remove the bolts and 
chains. In a few seconds she was out in the 
open air. She gave a little skip and spring 
pf delight, and running down the steps walked 


312 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

nimbly up the street. “I’ll walk to Padding- 
ton,” she said to herself. “ I don’t know when 
the next train goes to Falmouth, but it’s sure 
to start early. Dear heart ! how refreshing 
the morning air is ! Give me poverty and 
fresh air and a feather bed. None of them 
springs for me again. My darter will be in a 
state, but I ain’t agoin’ to promise her, not I. 
I’ll take little Sir Piers back to Pelham Towers, 
that I will. I won’t hold that awful secret 
another day.” 

Mrs. Ives, busy with her thoughts, stepped 
cheerfully along. Presently she saw a police- 
man walking by. She quickened her steps 
almost to a run and went up to him. 

“ My good sir,” she said, “ can you tell me 
the way to Paddington ? ” 

The policeman gave her directions and she 
walked on again. 

“I wish I had asked him when the next 
train started for Falmouth,” she said to her- 
self, “ but perhaps he wouldn’t ha’ known. 
Dear heart ! how hunted Clary do look ! She 
ain’t at all a nice sort, not at all. She never 
wor, and she grows less so as she gets older.” 

Mrs. Ives continued her walk. From 
Harley Street to Paddington was scarcely thirty 
minutes’ walk. She arrived at the great ter- 
minus soon after five o’clock, and found to her 
relief that a train started for Falmouth at 5.30. 
She took her ticket, and, as soon as ever she 


Gone. 


313 

could, seated herself in the corner of a third- 
class compartment. It was cold at this hour, 
but Mrs. Ives was made of stern metal, and 
she drank in the keen air with appreciation. 

“ A sight better than Clara’s stifling house,” 
she thought. 

A porter was passing and she called out to 
him. 

“When does this train arrive at Falmouth, 
my good man ? ” 

“Four-eighteen,” replied the man. 

“ My word— a long time ! But never mind, 
ril be there in time for his tea — bless ’im ! ” 

The porter did not know to whose tea she 
alluded, but did not stop to inquire. 

“ He allers likes his tea with me,” continued 
the little woman, “ and he shall have it to-night 
with a fresh egg and a little honey. Honey 
agrees with him wonderful. He’s a splendid 
child. I love ’im better than I loves Clary. 
Clary takes after her father. My word, how 
thin and ugly she have grown ! I shouldn’t 
be surprised if she had caught the consump- 
tion same as her father died of.” 

Punctual to the moment the train steamed 
out of the station. Mrs. Ives settled herself 
comfortably in her corner, looked around her 
and chuckled. 

“ I ha’ done it now,” she thought. “ I’ll 
talk to the little chap to-night and I’ll take 
him back to-morrow. I’m sorry for the pretty 


314 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

young lady. It’ll go hard with her and her 
husband returning to poverty. Well, never 
mind, hardships must be borne once in a way, 
and poverty ain t none so bad. I ha' tasted 
riches, and I’d a sight sooner have poverty.” 

Mrs. Ives made a sniff of approval and flung 
down the window. 

“ Sakes, this keen air is refreshing,” she 
said. “ That house with its curtains was 
enough to stifle a body.” 

The train was punctual in arriving at Fal- 
mouth, but Mrs. Ives had still two miles to 
complete her journey. Her little cottage was 
situated in a village a mile outside the big 
town. As she walked she began to have a 
strange and almost painful longing to clasp the 
boy in her arms, to kiss his white forehead, to 
look into his deep and lovely eyes, to hear his 
shout of rapture when she told him that through 
no fault of his she had discovered his secret, 
and that in spite of Clary he was going home. 

“ I’ll miss him,” she said to herself, “ but 
any one can see that he frets a good bit— poor 
lamb ! He won’t fret any longer now. Yes, 
I’ll miss him sore, but I’ll always feel deep 
down in my heart that I took him back to his 
own, and that I foiled Clary, who’s turned so 
monstrous wicked. It’s a terrible thing to 
think of one’s own darter coming so low, but 
I won’t be the one to connive at her wicked- 
ness.” 


Gone. 


315 

Mrs. Ives’s little cottage was on the outskirts 
of the village. The lights were burning in the 
cottage windows as she walked down the street. 
No one noticed her as she went by. Had 
the village folk done so they might have had 
news. 

By and by she entered her own cottage. 
When she had gone away she had left a village 
girl in possession. The name of the girl was 
Mary Welsh. She was a round-headed, blue- 
eyed girl, with a flat face, and a keen, clever 
way about her. Mrs. Ives had given her di- 
rections with regard to little Piers. She was to 
play with him, but not to encourage him to talk 
about his fancies. He was to be out a good 
deal, for, Christmas as the season was, it was 
pleasant in the neighborhood of Falmouth, and 
not specially cold. 

“ Ain't they got no fire and no light ? How 
mortal dull for the little chap ! ” she said to 
herself as she noticed that the house was in 
darkness. But the next moment it occurred 
to her that Mary Welsh might have taken the 
boy to have tea with her own people. Such a 
proceeding would be very wrong on the part 
of Mary, but, nevertheless, she might have 
committed the crime. 

“Where are you, little chap?” called out 
Mrs. Ives as she lifted the latch. There was 
not a sound or a movement — the place was 
empty. Mrs. Ives knew where the matches 


3i 6 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

were kept. She found the box, struck a match 
and lit a candle. The fire was out, the place 
was in confusion. A telegram lay on the 
table. 

“ From Clary, but I ain’t a-going to mind 
her,” said Mrs. Ives. She went into the little 
bedroom ; both the beds were in order, but 
there was not a sight of the child anywhere. 

“Dear, dear, and I’m fagged out. Yes, I’m 
beginning to feel the journey now,” she said to 
herself ; “ but there’s no help for it. I must 
go off to Mary’s. Now what does this mean ? ” 

There was a sound of footsteps running 
quickly. "The next moment the house door 
was flung open and Mary rushed into the 
room. The moment she saw Mrs. Ives she fell 
on her knees. 

“ It weren’t my fault, and don’t you go 
a-blaming me,” she called out. 

“What do you mean?” said Mrs. Ives. 
“ Get up and speak plain.” 

“ I had nothing to do with it. I just left him 
for five minutes, and where he’s gone off to 
Heaven only knows.” 

“ Where— who’s gone — what are you talking 
about ? ” 

“The child, little Piers, he slipped off yes- 
terday in the darkness. I was with him and 
had just given him his supper, and I said I’d 
come back in a few minutes, and when I did 
there wasn’t a sight of him. Mother and me 


Gone. 


317 

and all the village have been looking for him, 
and we ain’t seen him, none of us.” 

“ You get out of my house this minute,” said 
Mrs. Ives. “ A nice girl you are to have the 
care of a little gentleman.” 

The girl disappeared. There was some- 
thing awful at that moment in the little woman’s 
flashing eyes. She walked to the door, locked 
it, then she lit her lamp and sat down to think. 
The boy was gone— but where ? What could 
be the matter ? Had any misfortune befallen 
him ? 

Amid all her wild dreams the possibilit}^ that 
the boy might himself try to get back to his 
old home had never once occurred to her, but 
now it did. She nodded her head several 
times. 

“ Deary me ! there seems likely to be no 
rest for me this blessed night,” she said. “ I 
must try to take the next train to Haversham. 
I wonder if there’s one to-night ; most likely 
not, but anyhow, back I must go to Falmouth 
to find out.” 

She did not wait even to get herself a cup of 
tea. When she reached the town she was 
greeted with the information that by no pos- 
sible means could she get across country to 
Haversham that night. There, would be a 
train at eight o’clock on the following morning. 
She must wait until then. 

“ But what is the matter, ma’am ? ” said the 


3iS On the Brink of si Chasm. 

old clerk, who knew her well, having seen her 
often before. 

“ It’s a bad job,” she answered, “ and I 
want to hurry as fast as I can. There’s a little 
gentleman missing, and more hangs on him 
than words can say. You didn’t see a pretty 
little gentleman, dressed common enough, but 
with the air of the nobility, asking for a ticket 
here yesterday evening, sir?” 

Mrs. Ives went on to describe the boy. She 
spoke with glowing terms of his rosy face, his 
dark eyes and his black hair. 

No, the clerk had seen no such little gentle- 
man. He thought Mrs. Ives must be slightly off 
her head. She turned away in the darkness. 


Barbara Hears Startling News. 319 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

BARBARA HEARS STARTLING NEWS. 

It was on the very day that Pelham was 
arrested on a charge of murder, and Barbara, 
happy and unconscious, had gone to Exeter to 
buy presents for the Christmas tree, that Mrs. 
Ives began her search for Piers. Having had 
time to think during the night, she resolved 
not to begin by going to Pelham Towers. The 
boy had no money, of that she was well aware. 
It would be out of his power to walk the dis- 
tance from Falmouth to Great Pelham under 
several days, besides he would not know the 
way. Beyond doubt, he was still in the im- 
mediate neighborhood. Mrs. Ives would make 
inquiries in her own vicinity first. 

“ He's such a pretty little dear that any one 
might kidnap him,” she said to herself. “ I 
hope to goodness there ain’t no gipsies about. 
I’ll go to the different villages and make in- 
quiries, and I’ll offer a reward. I’ll write it out 
and I’ll put it up on my door the first thing in 
the morning. I’ll spend a pound over Piers. 
It’s a deal of money, but I’ll spend it.” 


320 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

So, taking tremendous pains, the little 
woman wrote in large characters : — 

ONE POUND REWARD. 

Wanted, a little boy, aged seven, named Piers. 
Complexion dark, with rosy cheeks, eyes dark 
and shining like stars. Black hair, all curled. 
A nobleman-in-disguise sort of appearance. 

Having fashioned this description to her 
own mind, Mrs. Ives proceeded to post it on the 
door of her house. She had printed it partly, 
in red ink and partly in black. “ Nobleman- 
in-disguise sort of appearance ’’ was all done 
in red ink. It was the kind of advertisement 
to attract immediate attention. As soon as 
daylight came she began her round of the 
village. She then went to the neighboring 
villages. Wherever she went she made in- 
quiries. Here and there she posted up her 
queer advertisement. She was very weary and 
tired now, but still her courage never flagged. 
She got no hint of the boy’s whereabouts 
from any one. No one had seen or heard of 
him, but all the villagers were interested and 
promised to look out. As far as they could 
tell, there were no gipsies in the neighborhood. 
Mrs. Ives went home. 

“ I must do it. I must go off to Pelham 
Towers afore the last train goes to night,” she 


Barbara Hears Startling News. 321 

said to herself. “ But first Fll just read this 
telegram from poor Clary.” 

The telegram was brief. It simply contained 
a request on the part of Clara that Mrs. Ives 
would do nothing until she saw her. 

Mrs. Ives once again dipped her pen in the 
ink and wrote a telegram to Clara. 

“ Boy gone. Am off now to Pelham Towers 
to find him. Your mother.” 

When she got to Falmouth Mrs. Ives sent 
off this message. She then took a ticket to 
Haversham, and in course of time was put 
down at the little wayside station. It was a 
long walk from there to the Towers, but when 
her spirit was up the little woman was good 
for anything. 

Accordingly she was once more trudging 
down the avenue when Barbara was returning 
from Exeter. Barbara had had a successful 
day, and driving back in the pretty pony car- 
riage with her mother wrapped in furs by her 
side, she was chatting and laughing gaily. 

“ I do declare,” she said, “ there’s that funny 
little old woman again ! ” 

“ What little woman, dear ? ” said Mrs. 
Evershed. 

“ Her name is Ives. What can she want 
now ? ” 

Barbara pulled up the ponies. She leant 
out of the carriage. 

“ Good evening, Mrs. Ives,” she said. 


322 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ Oh, good evening, my pretty young lady,” 
said Mrs. Ives, dropping her accustomed curt- 
sey. “ I’m in a sore bit of trouble, and I’ve 
come back here thinking perhaps you could 
help me.” 

“ If I can I will right heartily,” said Barbara. 
“ But 3^ou look very tired, and there is 
plenty of room in the carriage. Please get in.” 

Mrs. Evershed made a gesture of disap- 
proval, but Barbara could afford to take no 
notice of her mother. Mrs. Ives interested 
her. She thought she would like to show the 
little woman to Dick. Barbara’s heart was full 
of Dick. She had not been parted from him for 
so long a time since their marriage. She had 
a great deal to tell him. 

“ Step in. Take this seat,” said Barbara. 

Mrs. Ives did so. 

“I’m mighty obliged. I’m very footsore,” 
said the little woman. 

Barbara whipped up the ponies and pro- 
ceeded at a rapid pace down the avenue. Mrs. 
Ives sat quite silent, staring full in the face of 
the pretty young lady. 

“ I can deal her a blow, and, dear heart ! I 
don’t like to do it,” she said to herself. “ But 
after all, what is riches ? I ha’ tasted them at 
my darter’s and they’re a grand mistake. It’s 
a siglit better to live poor and live plain. Yes, 
that’s what I say— live poor and live plain. 
Have plain food and a plain bed and cleanli- 


Barbara Hears Startling News. 323 

ness round you, and you don’t want for noth- 
ing. That’s the way to live and have a long 
life, and no encouraging of stoutness.’’ 

As these thoughts flew through Mrs. Ives’s 
active brain she glanced at Mrs. Evershed, who 
was decidedly broad and fully developed. Mrs. 
Ives did not like the grand lady, and did not 
trouble to look at her again. 

They presently reached the house. Barbara 
helped her mother out of the carriage and then 
turned to Mrs. Ives. 

“Will you come into the hall?” she said. 
“ This lady is my mother, and I want to see to 
her comforts. If you will stay in the hall I 
will come back to you presently.” 

Mrs. Ives nodded. 

Barbara conveyed Mrs. Evershed up-stairs. 

“ Why do you talk to that sort of person, 
Barbara ? It’s not at all good taste,” said Mrs. 
Evershed. 

“ Oh, mother, where does the bad taste come 
in ? She’s such a little character, quite an 
oddity, and I enjoy her,” said Barbara. “ I 
wonder where Dick is ! ” 

A servant, who had been hovering about, 
now came forward with Dick’s note. 

“ Sir Richard said you were to receive this 
immediately on your return, my lady,” he re- 
marked. 

Barbara opened the note, read the contents, 
and her face turned white. 


324 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ What can be the matter?” she said aloud. 

“ Is anything wrong, dear?” asked Mrs. 
Evershed. 

“ No, nothing that I know of ; but Dick had 
to go to town unexpectedly. He says he’ll be 
back to-morrow. I wonder what can be the 
matter! He said nothing at all about going 
to town when I was leaving this morning.” 

“ Sir Richard went away in a dog-cart with 
two strange men,” volunteered the footman. 

Barbara’s surprise and curiosity became 
still greater, but she would not condescend to 
question the man. 

“ It’s all right,” she said in a would-be cheer- 
ful tone. “ Let me take you to your room, 
mother. I hope the fire is good.” 

Mrs. Evershed thought nothing of Dick’s 
disappearance. On the contrary, she was 
rather pleased than otherwise to have her 
daughter to herself for the first evening. 

“The house is wonderfully pretty, dear,” 
she said. “ More than pretty, quite handsome, 
but it really ought to be re-decorated. That 
splendid old tapestry, for instance, is quite 
thrown away in its present position. Now, you 
ought to go to ” 

“ I like things as they are,” interrupted Bar- 
bara. 

“ Of course, my dear child ; but without in 
the least disturbing the old ancestral appear-' 
ance of the place you could accentuate the best 


Barbara Hears Startling News. 325 

points. I know a man who will help you. His 
terms are enormous, but what can you expect 
when he does so much for the money.” 

“ Well, mother, we. will talk about that pres- 
ently. Now, this is your room. I hope you 
will find it comfortable.” 

The apartment in question was a splendid 
one and very spacious. Barbara’s maid was 
waiting to unpack Mrs. Evershed’s things. 

“ I will leave you now to the care of Mar- 
shall,” said the younger lady. “ Marshall, please 
bring tea to Mrs. Evershed in this room. We 
dine at seven, mother.” 

Barbara left the room. In the passage out- 
side she stood still for a minute. There was 
no one by. She slipped her hand into her 
pocket and took out Dick's note. It was writ- 
ten in pencil on a torn page of his pocket-book. 
The few words were quickly read, but Barbara 
lingered long over the “Darling” with which 
the note was begun. Suddenly raising it to 
her lips she kissed the signature ; then, ten- 
derly folding it up, she put it back in her 
pocket. 

“ I wish I knew what has really happened,” 
she said to herself. “ He knew nothing what- 
ever about this business when I left him this 
morning. I hope nothing is wrong.” 

In her disappointment about her husband 
not being at home, she 'forgot all about Mrs. 
Ives. When she returned to the hall the 


326 On the Brink ot a Chasm. 

little woman was still seated on one of the 
chairs. 

“Oh, I am sorry I forgot all about you,” said 
Barbara. “ Did you wish to see me about 
anything ? ” 

“Well, yes, my lady, I should like to ask 
you one or two questions.” 

“ Come in here. This is my husband’s study, 
and we shall be quite uninterrupted.” 

Barbara opened a door to the left of the hall 
and entered first. Mrs. Ives followed her. 
Barbara closed the door behind her guest. 

“ And now what is it ? ” she asked. 

“ Well, my lady, I have come here to know 
if by any chance a little boy has arrived dur- 
ing the last twenty-four hours.” 

“ I don’t understand,” said Barbara. “ A 
little boy — what do you mean ? ” 

“A very pretty little boy, my lady,” said Mrs. 
Ives, speaking slowly, her eyes fixed on Bar- 
bara’s blooming face. “ Brown eyes he had. 
deep and soft, a wonderful look in ’em, starry 
eyes, I call ’em, and a little brown face with 
roses in his cheeks, and black hair all curly, 
and his name, my lady, is Piers. Has he come 
here within the last twenty-four hours ? ” 

“ Certainly not. What a strange question 
to ask. A boy called Piers. Why, that is the 
name of the dear little fellow who died three 
months ago.” 

“ I was thinking of that, my lady.” 


Barbara Hears Startling News. 327 

“ But what can you mean ? The child you 
describe is exactly like the little Piers who 
died. Please explain yourself.” 

“ I can do it in a few words, my lady. I has 
had the care of a little boy just as I have de- 
scribed, with the air of the nobility about him, 
and a splendid way and brave, brave as a hero 
of antiquity, but he’s lost, my lady. I went to 
town to see my darter, Clara Tarbot what now 
is — she looks mortal bad— riches don’t agree 
with her. I saw my darter on the subject of 
the little boy, and when I come home he was 
gone. I thought maybe he’d come here.” 

“ I cannot understand it,” said Barbara. She 
began to tremble. She did not know why. 
“A little boy whom you had the care of called 
Piers, with that sort of appearance, and you 
thought he would come here. But why 
should he come here ? ” 

“ I had the thought, my lady. I ain’t pre- 
pared to say what gave birth to it.” 

“ I have been out of the house all day,” said 
Barbara after another pause, “ but I will of 
course inquire. If you will stay where you are 
I can soon let you know.” 

Barbara left the room. The little woman 
clasped her hands and looked straight before 
her. 

“ This is his house,” she said to herself, “ and 
the room is a beautiful one— heaps of air, big, 
lofty. If I don’t soon get tidings the police 


328 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

must be told that he s not an ordinary little 
boy, but Sir Piers Pelham himself.” 

Lady Pelham returned, and her face was pale. 
“I have made inquiries,” she said, “but no 
little boy has arrived to-day. It is late, and I 
will give you a bed for the night. The child 
you have been taking care of may turn up in 
the morning, but I cannot possibly imagine 
why you should think he was coming here. 
Would you like to stay here for the night ? ” 

“ It’s late,” said Mrs. Ives, “ and my bones, 
they do ache terrible. Ha’ you got a feather bed 
and a room without curtains and bare floor ? ” 
Barbara could not help smiling. 

“ I daresay we can accommodate you with 
what you require in one of the attics,” she said. 

“ Then I will stay, for the child may come 
in the morning. Did you ask Mrs. Posset if 
the child had come ? ” 

“ Certainly, I went to Mrs. Posset first of all.” 
“ And what did she say?” 

“ Your description made her cry. I had to 

explain that ” 

“What, my lady ?” 

“ That it could not have been our little boy.” 
“ And why not, my pretty lady ? ” 

“ Because I saw him after lie died,” said 
Barbara. “ Oh, you make my heart ache when 
you talk of him. He is dead and in his grave. 
Now I will take you to the housekeeper. She 
will give you a comfortable room for the night.” 


A Moment of Triumph. 


329 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

A MOMENT OF TRIUMPH. 

By the morning post Barbara received a 
letter from Dick. It was short, and its con- 
tents were startling. 

“Dearest Barbara ” (he wrote),— “ Some- 
thing very bad has happened. I dare not and 
will not tell you what it is, but it is just possible 
that I shall be obliged to remain in town for a 
day or two. Please don’t be frightened, dar- 
ling. The machinations of the wicked seldom 
prosper, and I have not the slightest doubt 
that everything will turn out right in the end. 
If you do not hear from me or see me for a 
few days try to keep calm and cheerful, for I 
am convinced that I shall soon be able to return 
to you, and that this most dark cloud will pass. 
My promise, however, to come back to Pelham 
Towers to-morrow I find impossible to fulfil. 

“Yours ever, my darling, 

“Dick.” 

Barbara was standing near the breakfast 


330 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

table when she read this letter. She read it 
once, twice, and even three times. After the 
third perusal she put it in her pocket. Mrs. 
Evershed had entered the room. She was 
standing near a glorious fire, for the weather 
happened to be intensely cold, and her eyes, 
dark and sunken, were fixed upon her daugh- 
ter’s face. 

“ What is it, Barbara ? Have you news of 
your husband ? ” she asked. 

“ I have had a letter from him,” said Bar- 
bara slowly. 

“He returns home to-day, does he not?” 
said Mrs. Evershed. 

“No, mother.” 

“ But I thought you said he would come 
back to-day ?” 

“ So he told me in the note I received yes- 
terday, but he finds it impossible to do so. 
Mother, do you greatly mind if I leave you 
here, and go up to London ? ” 

“ To London ? ” said Mrs. Evershed. “ But 
what for, Barbara, what for ? ” 

“ I wish to see Dick.” 

“ My dear child, you look quite mysterious. 
Is anything wrong ? ” 

“ I hope not, but I am not sure.” 

“Won’t you tell me, Barbara?” 

“ I cannot, mother, for I do not know my- 
self. Dick, it appears, is in some sort of 
trouble. Will you stay at the Towers and 


A Moment of Triumph. 331 

look after things and let me be free to go to 
town ? Otherwise I cannot rest — I cannot 
really, mother.” 

‘‘ You lock strange, Barbara, and frightened.” 

“ I am frightened,” said Barbara. “ I do 
not know why, but I am.” 

“ Sit down, dear, and have some breakfast.” 

“ You will look after things here, and set me 
free to go up to town ? ” repeated Barbara. 

“ Of course, my love, although I think it 
most unnecessary for you to go.” 

‘‘ I must decide for myself on that point,” 
said Barbara. 

Mrs. Evershed said nothing more. Barbara 
crossed the room and rang the bell. When 
the servant appeared she ordered the carriage 
to be round within half an hour. 

“ I shall catch the ten o’clock train from 
Haversham,” she said, as she seated herself 
before the coffee urn. 

“ Barbara, my dear, you are trembling. 
You must not give way,” said her mother. 
“Indeed, I am convinced there is no cause for 
alarm. You have had little to do with men 
hitherto, my poor child, and do not know 
what queer creatures they are, with their ups 
and downs and their mysteries, and their sud- 
den departures from home. Oh, I had plenty 
of that sort of thing to go through when your 
poor father was alive, and I know all about it.” 

“ I don’t understand you, mother,” said 


332 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

Barbara impatiently. She could not bear a 
word to be even hinted against Dick. She 
slipped her hand into her pocket and softly 
touched his note. 

“ You will come back to-morrow, Barbara ?” 

“ Probably,” replied Barbara. 

“ You will spend to-night at my house ? ” 

“ If necessary, I will do so, mother.” 

Barbara could scarcely eat. She broke a 
piece of toast up mechanically and put dry 
morsels into her mouth. 

“ I am certain there is nothing the matter,” 
said Mrs. Evershed cheerfully. “ To-morrow 
will be Christmas Eve. Would you like me 
to carry on the arrangements you have already 
made ? ” 

“ Please, mother, yes, certainly. I will de- 
sire the servants to come to you for orders, 
and Mrs. Posset will, of course, manage the 
housekeeping. There won't be much for you 
to do, but order the carriage whenever you 
want it. Make yourself as happy as you 
can. I am sorry to have to leave you, dear 
mother.” 

“I wonder what is wrong,” thought Mrs. 
Evershed when Barbara left the room. 

A few moments later young Lady Pelham 
left the Towers. 

Barbara did not look back as she was bowled 
up the avenue. Had she done so she would 
have seen little Mrs. Ives standing near one 


A Moment of Triumph. 333 

ol the side entrances bobbing her accustomed 
curtseys. 

Mrs. Ives was in a sad state of indecision. 
She had also received a letter by that morn- 
ing’s post. It was from her daughter Clara. 
Clara had desired her to stay where she was, 
to keep her secret, and on no account to leave 
Pelham Towers until she got further directions. 

‘‘Unless you want to ruin me forever, you^ 
will do what I require,” wrote Clara in her 
peremptory manner. 

Mrs. Ives was shaken and agitated. 

“ I ask, both for your sake and that of the 
child,” said Clara finally, and Mrs. Ives felt 
that she must submit. 

Meanwhile Barbara hurried quickly up to 
town. Oh, that she could get to Dick on the 
wings of thought ! The long delay, the awful 
suspense were terrible. 

At last the journey was over and she found 
herself at Paddington. She had come up to 
town without luggage, and got into a hansom 
immediately. Until this moment she had not 
remembered that she did not really know 
where to find Dick. When the cabman asked 
her for directions she paused for a moment to 
consider. 

“ Drive to 12 Ashley Mansions, near Harley 
Street,” she said to him. 

The man whipped up his horse and in a 
short time the cab drew up at the familiar 


334 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

door. Barbara got out, ran up the steps, and 
rang the bell. The servant, who knew her 
well, opened the door. He started quite per- 
ceptibly when he saw her. 

Is Mrs. Pelham in ?’' asked Barbara. 

“Yes, Lady Pelham, but ” 

“ I must see her immediately.” 

“ I will let her know that you have called, 
Lady Pelham.” 

The man’s face was certainly queer. He 
stood in such a position that Barbara had al- 
most to push past him into the hall. 

“ Don’t keep me,” she said. “ I will go 
and see Mrs. Pelham without being an- 
nounced. Is she in the drawing-room ? ” 

“ I believe so, my lady. But if you will ex- 
cuse me, my lady ” 

Barbara did not hear, she was already half- 
way up the stairs. The next moment she had 
entered the well-known drawing-room. Mrs. 
Pelham was seated with her back to her, busily 
writing. The widow’s little figure looked alert, 
even the back of her head seemed full of a 
new resolution. 

Barbara went silently up to her and touched 
her on the arm. Mrs. Pelham turned with a 
start. When she saw Barbara she became 
very white. 

“ To//, you have come here ? ” she said. 

“Yes, I am here, Mrs. Pelham. Can you 
tell me where Dick is ?” 


A Moment of Triumph. 335 

“But don’t you know anything, Barbara?” 
cried the widow. 

“Not yet, but I will know. Put me out of 
suspense. Tell me at once.” 

“ Barbara, I cannot. I wish you had not 
come here. This is dreadful.” 

“Tell me at once, Mrs. Pelham. Do you 
think I am silly ? Don’t you know that I am 
a woman — that I have got both strength and 
courage? I know that something dreadful 
has happened. What is it ? ” 

“ I suppose I must tell you, but I wish 

some one else would. Your husband ” 

Mrs. Pelham paused to wet her lips. They 
were already so dry she could scarcely bring 
out the words. 

“Yes,” said Barbara. 

“Your husband— Dick, has been ” 

“ Yes ?” 

“ Arrested. ’ 

“Arrested ! My husband arrested ! What 
for ? Oh, for God’s sake tell me quickly ! ” 
“ Yes, Barbara, I will— that is, I will try. 
I know it is an awful shock for you, pool 
girl ! But, Barbara, your husband, Dick, has 

been arrested on suspicion of having ” 

“ Yes, yes, on suspicion of what ? ” 

“ Of having murdered my little Piers ! ” 

“ Oh, Mrs. Pelham, what utter nonsense ! ” 
said Barbara. The accusation was so mon- 
strous, so unfounded, that her first feeling 


336 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

was one of relief. She even gave a strange 
and hollow laugh. 

“ What nonsense ! ” she repeated. “ Dick 
accused of murdering Piers ! Dick, who 
loved him ! Mrs. Pelham, has anybody gone 
mad ?” 

“ My poor child, I don’t wonder at your 
taking it like this. I felt somewhat as you do 
at the first moment, but it is all too, too true. 
I thought, of course, you must know by this 
time.” 

“Tell me more— tell me quickly. Where 
is Dick now ? ” 

“ He was examined before the magistrate 
this morning, Barbara. I was there— I had to 
be present. He is remanded until — until ” 

“I do not understand,” said Barbara. “It 
is so ridiculous. I know you are trying to tell 
me the most awful thing in the world, but it 
is so utterly false that I cannot feel it.” 

She laughed again ; her laugh sounded 
awful. 

“Just tell me the whole story from begin- 
ning to end,” she said. 

“ I will, dear. I am most terribly sorry for 
you.” 

“ But are you not sorry for him ? You 
surely do not believe it ? ” 

“ Oh, my poor Barbara, my poor Barbara ! ” 

“ Really, I think you must have gone mad, 
too,” said Barbara. “Such a monstrous ac^ 


A Moment of Triumph. 337 

cusation, and you look quite solemn ! What 
has become of the laws of England when they 
accuse the most innocent man in the world ? ” 

“ Barbara, dear, it does not look so. I am 
bound to say that the circumstantial evidence 
is very, very grave. Oh, it has all come sud- 
denly, and I had to prosecute. Yes, I know 
I am your enemy, Barbara.” 

“ Then you have done this ? ” said Barbara, 
slowly. She backed away from Mrs. Pelham, 
her face as white as death. The arrows were 
beginning now to pierce her soul. “ You have 
done this ?” she repeated. 

“ How could I help it, Barbara ? My only 
child ! And it seems to me to be so abun- 
dantly proved. Dick gave him that last dose 
of medicine. Some one put something into 
the medicine— hyocene. It is dreadful stuff— 
a most fatal poison. It has been proved, or 
almost proved, that Dick did it.” 

“ And they say that Dick gave that medicine 
with that dreadful poison in it to Piers, and 
you believe it — you think he did it ? But 
Piers was supposed to die of heart disease.” 

“ This particular medicine would affect the 
heart strongly, and the disease which was 
mentioned in the death certificate would to all 
appearance occur. It was a clever scheme. 
Barbara, circumstantial evidence is heavy 
against your husband.” 

“ I know now what something Dick said 
22 


338 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

in his letter means,” cried Barbara. “ ‘ The 
machinations of the wicked.’ I know what 
that expression means now.” 

“ They are going to exhume the little body,” 
continued Mrs. Pelham, who was now crying 
bitterly. “ They are going down to Pelham 
Towers, and they will open the little coffin, 
and the doctor employed by the Crown — for, 
of course, the Crown prosecutes in a case like 
this — will exhume the child’s little body. 
Even in his grave my darling must not rest 
in peace. They will have to do so in order 
to prove whether the child really swallowed 
the poison or not.” 

“Who has told you all this?” asked Bar- 
bara. She began to tie the strings of her 
cloak with trembling fingers. 

“ Luke Tarbot, of course. Where are you 
going, dear ? I feel so bitterly for you. I 
know that you at least are perfectly innocent.” 

“ I wonder you think so,” said Barbara. “ I 
would almost rather you did not. If Dick 
could be guilty of such a monstrous crime, 
why should not I connive at it ? Oh, this is 
too fearful ! I am going away, Mrs. Pelham.” 

“Where to?” 

“ It does not matter to you, for you are 
Dick’s enemy — Dick, who loved you ! But 
stay, Dick himself had suspicions. He sus- 
pected Dr. Tarbot.” 

“ That is one of the strong cases against 


A Moment of Triumph. 33p 

him, Barbara. His causeless suspicions, his 
restlessness, his acute misery after the death 
of the child, have been strongly commented 
on, and will prove a powerful lever against 
him. What earthly motive would Dr. Tarbot 
have in injuring the child ? ” 

“ Ah, that I have to find out,” said Barbara. 
“Well, good-by. I am thankful I came up to 
town. My Dick ! Yes, the accusation is too 
monstrous. Good-by.” 

Lady Pelham left the room without touch- 
ing Mrs. Pelham’s hand. 

She went into the street. Her eyes were 
bright ; she held herself erect ; she did not 
look like a woman stricken down. Now was 
the time to act. Once or twice as she hurried 
along in the direction of Harley Street she 
even laughed to herself. She soon reached 
Dr. Tarbot’s house and rang the bell. 

“ Is Dr. Tarbot in ? ” she asked of the 
servant. 

“ Yes, ma’am. What name shall I say ?” 

“ Lady Pelham. I wish to speak to him 
immediately.” 

The man stared at her with undoubted curi- 
osity-curiosity so great that even the mask 
which he was, as a servant, obliged to wear 
was slightly lifted. He showed Barbara into 
the waiting-room and went to inform his mas- 
ter. In an instant he came back, threw open 
the door for Lady Pelham, said that Dr. Tar- 


340 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

hot would see her, and took her into the 
consulting-room. 

Tarbot came eagerly forward — his face very 
white and very thin, his lips parted. Barbara 
went straight up to him. 

“ I have just seen Mrs. Pelham,” she said, 
“ and she has told me everything. So you 
are in this — you came down to Pelham Towers 
for the purpose of putting suspicion into Mrs. 
Pelham’s mind. You have caused my hus- 
band to be arrested on this most false charge.” 

“ There is no use in taking matters in that 
spirit. Lady Pelham,” said Tarbot. “The 
magistrate who this morning examined your 
husband with extreme care and justice does 
not agree with you in calling the charge 
false.” 

“It is a trumped-up charge against one of 
the best men God ever made,” said Barbara. 

“ You cannot prove it.” 

“ I will prove it yet. But what I have come 
about now is to ask why you have interfered 
in this matter.” 

“ What do 3^ou mean ? ” 

“ Why did you get Mrs. Pelham to prose- 
cute my husband ?” 

“ I only told her the simple truth. I could 
not do otherwise— the burden rested too heavy 
on my soul.” 

“ Your eyes belie your words. You did not 
do it for that reason.” 


A Moment of Triumph. 341 

An evil spirit seemed to leap out of Tarbot’s 
face at that moment, and he came closer to 
Barbara. Barbara did not repel him. On 
the contrary, she looked full at him. His 
eyes quailed for a moment under her gaze ; 
then they were lifted, and she saw the triumph 
in them. 

“ You have not answered my question,” she 
said. “ Even granted that there was truth in 
what you said, why should you be the one to 
take the initiative ? ” 

“Do you really want to know?” His 
voice had dropped now to a low tone, his white 
lips trembled, he came yet closer. Suddenly 
Barbara felt his hand laid heavily on her 
shoulder. She did not shrink from his touch. 

“ Shall I really tell you? ” he repeated. 

“ Yes.” 

“I did it because of you. I loved you, and 
you treated me with scorn. If you had married 
me I could have been a good man. As it is, 
I am a bad one. I was glad to have this handle 
against your husband. Having discovered 
the truth, I was glad to incite Mrs. Pelham 
to prosecute. Why ? Because it hurt you— 
it hurt you.” 

The touch of his hand felt like fire. Barbara 
noticed it for the first time. 

“ Let me go,” she said. 

“ I will not. My moment of triumph has 
come, and I shall take it.” The next instant 


342 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

he had caught her in both his arms, and was 
pressing his burning kisses on her lips. 

“ You drove me mad,” he said, “ but this is 
my hour of triumph. I loved you, and you 
treated me with scorn. Yes, 1 am bad now, 
and you are the cause. When your husband 
hangs for this crime, my revenge will be 
complete.” 

“You are a monster, and I treat you with 
the contempt you deserve,” cried Barbara. 
“ Touch me again if you dare ! ” She extri- 
cated herself from his grasp with a sudden 
quick movement. 

“ My husband will be cleared,” she said. 
“ As there is a God above, he is innocent, and 
I defy you, Dr. Tarbot. Don't keep me, sir.” 

She left the room. 


The Last Straw. 


343 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE LAST STRAW. 

Barbara had scarcely gone before the door 
of the consulting-room was opened, and Clara 
came in. Clara wore her old gray bonnet and 
cloak, her nurse’s dress. 

Tarbot, who was standing by the mantelpiece 
with an excited look in his eyes and his lips 
still trembling, turned when she entered. 

“ Leave me,” he said. “ I cannot speak to 
you at present. Go away.” 

“ I won’t keep you long,” answered Clara 
very gently. She was interrupted by a fit of 
coughing. Try as she would, she could not 
restrain it. Her face became crimson, and her 
features worked. She struggled hard with this 
convulsion of nature. Presently it passed, but 
not until the handkerchief which she had 
pressed to her lips was stained with blood. 

Tarbot stood a few feet away regarding her, 
and his face wore a malignant scowl. Clara 
slipped her handkerchief into her pocket, and 
sat down on the nearest chair, panting as she 
did so. 


344 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ You are ill,” said Tarbot. “ When you 
have done your business here as witness at 
the trial, you had better go to Algiers for the 
winter.” 

“ We will leave that matter for the present,” 
said Clara. “ I wish to tell you now that I 
know exactly what you have done.” 

What I have done ? ” 

“Yes. You have just had an interview with 
Lady Pelham.” 

“ What is that to you ? ” 

“A great deal. I am your wife. I hap- 
pened to see you just now.” 

“ So you played the spy ? ” 

“ I did, Luke, and I am not ashamed. I 
opened the door softly. You were too much 
occupied to notice me. I saw when you took 
her in your arms — you, who are another wo- 
man’s husband — kissed her. She repelled 
you, as a good woman should. I have not 
a word to say against her, but for you, 
Luke, for you — this to me is — the very last 
straw.” 

“Never mind ! ” he said excitedly. “ You 
shall go to Algiers when the trial is over. It 
will come on in a fortnight. The man has 
not a loophole of escape. The whole thing 
will sweep to its ghastly conclusion in a few 
weeks.” 

“ Are you sure ?”she asked. 

“ Yes. What do you mean ? ” 


The Last Straw. 345 

“ I was only thinking of the ace of trumps.” 

“Again you talk in that ridiculous way. 
You made use of that expression before. 
What do you mean ? ’ 

“You will know presently. Good-by, Luke.” 

“Where are you going ? ” 

“ Out.^’ 

Clara did not say anything further. She 
went into the hall, opened the hall door, and 
let herself out. Walking somewhat unsteadily 
and feebly, swaying now and then from side to 
side, she got as far as the end of the street. 
Here she hailed a hapsom, and desired the 
man to drive her to Paddington. When she 
got there she took the next train to Havers- 
ham. 

About half-way down the line she took a 
letter out of her pocket. It was directed to 
her husband. She gave it a queer look, and 
there was an ominous glitter in her eyes. 
When she reached a large junction she 
called a porter to her, gave him sixpence 
and asked him to post her letter. The man 
promised to obey. Clara sank back in her 
seat with a sigh of relief, and the train moved 
on. 

She arrived at Haversham late that evening. 
It was only a wayside station, and there were 
no cabs. She had to walk the entire distance 
to Great Pelham. The night was a wet one, 
and the heavy rain penetrated through Clara’s 


34^ On the Brink of a Chasm. 

cloak. She was damp through and through. 
She reached the “ Pelham Arms ” about ten 
o’clock. When she got there she spoke to 
one of the waiters. 

“ Get some tea at once in the coffee-room, 
and order a cab. I want to drive to Pelham 
Towers,” she said. 

The man looked eager when she pronounced 
the name, for already strange news was be- 
ginning to be whispered with regard to Pelham 
Towers. The account of the trial had come 
down in the evening papers, and the whole 
country rang with the news. 

The tea was brought, and Clara drank it off, 
for she was parched with thirst and fever. In 
less than ten minutes she was driving to the 
Towers. She got there about half-past ten. 
She desired the man to take her to the side 
entrance. One of the servants came out' and 
stared when she saw her. 

“ I have called to speak to a person who I 
believe is here— a person of the name of Ives,” 
said Clara. 

“ There is a little lady of that name in the 
house. She’s in the housekeeper’s room,” said 
the woman. 

“ I wish to see her immediately.” 

“ What name shall I say ? ” 

“Tell her that her daughter has come, and 
wants lo speak to her.” 

“ Will you please step in, ma’am ?” 


The Last Straw. 347 

Clara desired the cab to wait, and entered 
the hall. A moment later Mrs. Ives came 
out. 

“ Clary, thank the good God you have come. 
I couldn’t keep it to myself another half an 
hour. There’s bitter, bitter trouble. Clary, I 
couldn’t have kept it to myself any longer 
without going mad, and Mrs. Posset can 
scarcely see from crying. Clary, what do it 
mean ? ” 

“ It means that I want to speak to you, 
mother, and immediately.” 

Mrs. Posset’s stout form was now seen in 
the doorway of her parlor. Mrs. Ives turned 
and addressed her. 

“ My darter has come, ma’am,” she said, 
“ and wants to see me on a matter of special 
business. There ain’t nothing surprising that 
’appens nowadays, but ef I could see her alone 
for a few minutes it might be a convenience 
for all concerned.” 

“ You can see her in here,” said Mrs. Posset. 
She went out of the room as she spoke. Clara 
and her mother entered. Clara sank down 
panting on the sofa. 

“ Help me to take my cloak off,” she said, 
“lam not long for this world, but I want to 
unburden my soul before I go.” 

“What do you mean, child? How awful 
you look ! ” 

“Mother, where is the boy ?” 


34^ On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“I wish to God that I knew, but I don’t.'’ 

“ He hasn’t come here, then ?” 

“ No, no, and your letter kept me here, and 
it was like imprisoning me. I’m near mad keep- 
ing it all to myself, and now there’s the news 
that Sir Richard Pelham has been arrested for 
the murder of the little chap who is alive and 
well." 

“Yes, yes, mother, I know all that, and we 
will put it right. I have come down for the 
purpose, but we must find the boy, and we 
have not a moment to lose.” 

“ You’ll tell the truth. Clary ?” 

“As there is a God above.” 

“ Thank the Lord, thank the Lord ! But, 
child, how queer you look ! ” 

“ I am dying, mother, but I shan’t die until 
I have told the truth. I have suffered much, 
and the last straw, the last straw came to- 
day. You have heard of it, haven’t you ?” 

“ To be sure, child, to be sure ! But how 
queer you look ! ” 

“ Oh, I am bad, my heart aches, and my 
body aches, and there’s no rest for me on 
earth. Come, mother, put on your bonnet. I 
told the cab to wait, and we must leave here 
to-night. We must find the child.” 

“They say,” cried Mrs. Ives, “ that a doctor 
is coming down from London to-morrow morn 
ing. They’re going to open the vault, and 
they are going to take out the coffin.” 


The Last Straw. 


349 


“ Let them. It doesn’t matter. Richard 
Pelham will be saved. The beautiful young 
lady will have a life of happiness. I go under 
forever, but what does that matter? Come, 
mother, come at once.” 


350 


On the Brink of a Chasm. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

ACE OF TRUMPS. 

As soon as Clara left him, Tarbot put on his 
hat and went to see the solicitor for the prose- 
cution. The latter had made an appointment 
to see Tarbot between three and four o’clock. 
He had a long interview with the doctor, in 
which details with regard to Pelham’s trial 
were most carefully gone into. Tarbot told 
what he had to tell in a quiet voice, his face 
calm and stern-looking. Now and then to a 
close observer there might have been seen 
what looked almost like a sorrowful expression 
stealing round the lips. 

When Tarbot had given all his information 
Mr. Cornish spoke. 

“ By the way, this is an unpleasant business 
for you,” he said. “ That part about the post 
obit will not sound too well. You got him to 
sign that, remember.” 

“ I did it simply because I had no other se- 
curity for my money. As matters have turned 
out I know well that this part of the affair will 


Ace of Trumps. 351 

not redound to my credit. But, after all, 
what was I to do ? I could not hold back 
because of that. I was the child’s guardian, 
remember, and Mrs. Pelham was my great 
friend.” 

“ A case of conscience. I quite understand,” 
said Cornish. “ Well, it is all sad and terrible. 
The case will go, without the slightest doubt, 
against the prisoner.” 

“ You think so ? ” said Tarbot eagerly. In 
spite of all his efforts his eyes danced now 
with malignity. 

“ I am certain of it,” said Cornish, glancing 
up at him in some surprise. “ The man will 
hang for the crime. The jury will convict 
him, and there won’t be a loophole for the 
commutation of the sentence. I am sorry for 
the young wife.” 

“ Yes, she is the one to be pitied,” said 
Tarbot. 

“ If any further particulars come to light you 
will acquaint me ? ” said Cornish. 

“Yes,” replied Tarbot, rising as he spoke. 
“ By the way, have you given orders for the 
exhumation of the body ? ” 

“Yes, the doctor for the Crown goes down 
to Great Pelham to-night with his assistant and 
the usual officers from Scotland Yard. You 
clearly understand that Pelham is only re- 
manded for the present— he cannot be com- 
mitted for trial until the body has been ex- 


352 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

burned, and it is clearly proved that the child 
swallowed the poison.” 

“ Yes, yes, I see. Well, you are losing no 
time.” 

“ I am not. In a matter of this sort there 
is no good in lingering over things. From 
what you have told me it is only a mere mat- 
ter of form. The child of course swallowed 
the hyocene. Pelham will be committed for 
trial in a few days. You, of course. Dr. Tar- 
bot, will be served with a subpoena to appear 
as witness for the prosecution. Your wife 
will also have a notice to appear.” 

“Who instructs for the defense?” asked 
Tarbot. 

“Wilkinson ; and Merriman is the barrister. 
Merriman is the best criminal barrister we 
have, but he cannot fight a case like ours, 
although he will do his best.” 

“ Why did we not secure him ? ” said Tar- 
bot, knitting his brows. 

“ Oh, I think highly of my own man ; and 
in any case Merriman had been previously re- 
tained for the defense.” 

“ It is a great pity we did not get him,” re- 
peated Tarbot. 

The lawyer said nothing. The doctor bade 
him good-by, and took his leave. 

Tarbot went straight to see Mrs. Pelham. 
He told her briefly what had occurred, gave 
her a resume oi the present aspect of the case. 


Ace of Trumps. 353 

and sitting down by her side, looked at her. 
The widow's expression was nervous and worn 
to the last degree. 

“You are not well,” he said. 

She burst into tears. 

“ I wish I had never done it,” she cried. 

“ Done what, my dear madam ? ” 

“What I have done — prosecuted Dick. I 
have broken the heart of the bravest girl in the 
world.” 

Tarbot could not help shivering. 

“ Do you allude to Lady Pelham ?” 

“ I do, Luke. She was here this afternoon. 
How splendidly she spoke, and how grand was 
her trust in her husband ! Are you quite sure 
that Dick — Dick, who has the most open face 
in the world — did commit such a dastardly 
crime ? ” 

“ Think for yourself. Go over the evidence,” 
said Tarbot. 

“ Oh, I have ; but somehow lately I cannot 
think about it. My head gets giddy, and I am 
leaving it all to you. I wish I were dead and 
in the grave with my murdered boy.” 

“ I pity you sincerely,” said Tarbot. “ You 
must stay quiet and hope for the best. It is 
too late to change matters now, and it would 
be very wrong, very wrong indeed, to leave 
the child’s death unavenged.” 

He stayed for a few moments longer, and 
then took his leave. 


354 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

On the following morning, amongst several 
letters which lay on his breakfast table, Tarbot 
received one from his wife. He had not no- 
ticed Clara’s absence on the previous even- 
ing. She was often away from dinner lately, 
her health being far from good. Occasionally 
she spent whole days in bed. He used to 
hear her coughing, but he never went to her. 
When he saw her letter, however, on the 
breakfast table, he could not help giving a 
start. It bore a country postmark. He 
opened it and read the following words : 

“I told you, Luke Tarbot, that there was 
such a thing as the last straw. There is also 
such a thing as the worm turning. I have 
reached the last straw, and, to employ the 
other metaphor, I am the worm, much trodden 
on and much suffering, who has at last turned. 
Now listen to what I am going to say. I am 
on my way to Haversham. From there I shall 
go straight to Pelham Towers. Do you know 
why ? To tell the truth, the whole truth, and 
nothing but the truth. It was always your good 
pleasure to laugh at my mesmeric powers. 
When you read this letter you will no longer 
smile at them. 

“ I am about to explain to you what I meant 
when I spoke of possessing the ace of trumps. 
Read and consider my words carefully. You 
often told me that Dr. Weismann of Paris was 


Ace of Trumps. 355 

a humbug. Listen and tremble. He was no 
humbug. He was a man who possessed a 
marvelous personality, a strange and occult 
power. He imparted his knowledge to me, 
and I also found after some practise that I 
possessed the same intangible power. When 
you thought the child was dead he was not 
dead at all— he never died. That time when 
you wrote a certificate of his death he was 
only in a mesmeric sleep or trance. With 
care and cunning I had brought him to that 
pass. I never gave him a drop of the hyocene 
which you had provided me with. From time 
to time I subjected him to certain influences 
which produced trance. He got quickly and 
completely under my power. 

“ On the night you saw him his condition 
simulated death so well that you were taken 
in. It resembled a similar case in Paris which 
I attended, in which death was so completely 
simulated that three physicians were taken 
in, and pronounced the patient dead.* Luke, 
little Sir Piers has never died. I weighted his 
coffin with iron weights wrapped in wool. I 
took the boy to my own lodgings. He is well 
now— in perfect health. My mother has the 
care of him, and when I tell my story I am 
going to produce him. Your whole case, 
therefore, falls to the ground. . I tell you now 
in order that you may if you like leave the 

' * A fact. 


356 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

country while there is time. I give you this 
one last chance for the sake of the old love 
which I felt for you. 

“Your revenge, Luke Tarbot, has come to 
nothing. Had you given me any return for 
the love which I lavished upon you, I would 
have been true to you to the extent of sinning 
for you, and going hand in glove with you in 
this. As it is, I have ceased to love you. I 
shall be punished, but it does not matter, for 
my days are numbered, and I would far rather 
spend them in prison than have the life of a 
brave and gallant gentleman like Richard Pel- 
ham any further imperiled. 

“ You know the worst now, Luke, you 
know all. My ace of trumps is little Sir Piers, 
who is alive and well. 

“ Clara.” 

There is such a thing as a bad man’s frenzy, 
and it is best to draw the veil over it. Tarbot 
had wild ideas at first of rushing after Clara 
and murdering her on the spot in order to 
secure her silence, but as each futile thought 
swept through his brain he pushed it away as 
hopeless and impracticable. After a couple 
of hours of thought which no one need envy 
him, he went with stealthy and quick move- 
ments to pack a few belongings into his 
Gladstone bag. From his house he rushed 
to his bank, drew what balance he possessed 


Ace of Trumps. 357 

there, and took the morning train to the 
Continent. 

He had the sense to see that his game was 
up. There was nothing whatever for him but 
flight. 


358 On the Brink of a Chasm. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

SIR PIERS. 

It occurred to little Sir Piers that it would 
be a good thing if now, that he was quite well, 
he went home. As no one was inclined to 
take him, he thought he would go by himself. 
That would not be exactly breaking his secret, 
for surely if he were well he might go home 
to his mother and to Dick and to Barbara. He 
thought the matter over in the puzzled and yet 
wise way of seven years old. He did not wish 
to be unkind to his nurse or unkind to grannie, 
but, all the same, it seemed to him only fair 
that he should at least see the old place again, 
and behold his mother, if even at a distance, 
and see Barbara, the lady with the starry brown 
eyes, and Dick, the hero of his boyish dreams. 

So when Mrs. Ives went to London Piers 
quickly made up his mind. He had no money, 
but he had a shrewd wit, a brave spirit, and a 
gentleman’s heart. When darkness fell he 
left the cottage and walked quickly up the high 
road. Piers was dressed by Clara’s orders 
just as any other peasant boy. He wore a 


Sir Piers. 359 

shabby blouse, much worn knickerbockers, 
and socks which revealed his bare legs above 
them. His socks were blue, coarse homespun, 
his shoes were also coarse, and just what a 
village boy would wear. 

But, though Clara and her mother disguised 
the lad in these clothes, they could not take 
away his gallant figure, his beautiful face, his 
dancing eyes, and his classical features. They 
could not take away a certain personality which 
raised him above the common herd. Still, in 
the dusk no one would specially notice these 
things, and a village boy wandering about was 
not likely to attract attention. He walked he 
did not know where, for a very long time. 
He was under the impression that he was go- 
ing in the direction of Devonshire. Whenever 
he met any one he asked where Devonshire 
was, and as a rule the person spoken to pointed 
in a certain direction, and Piers walked on. 

When he got to a cottage he went to the door 
and asked for a drink of water. There was 
something wonderfully appealing in his dark 
eyes, and he usually received either a hunch 
of bread or a big glass of milk instead, so that 
although he had no money he did not starve, 
and as the first night was a warm one he lay 
down under the shelter of a great hayrick, 
burrowing a little way into it, and so escaping 
the worst of the cold and chill. Early in the 
morning he got up and walked on again, and 


360 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

thus he continued, journeying by easy stages, 
receiving food from time to time from the cot- 
tagers, and attracting little or no attention for 
two days. 

He had really at last crossed the borders 
and was in Devonshire. He was footsore and 
weary, and Devonshire was a big place, and he 
had not the least idea in what part of it Pelham 
Towers was situated. It occurred to him early 
on the morning of the third day that he must 
do something more. His boots were much 
worn with walking, and his dress untidy. His 
knees were torn from some thorns, and his 
face had lost its color ; his eyes, too, had a 
strained and anxious expression. 

He began to see his home in his dreams. 
He began to dream when he walked as well 
as when he lay down ; he was very anxious 
indeed. The longing to see his mother and 
Barbara grew keener and keener. He had 
never realized before that walking was so tiring. 
It seemed hard that he should have to walk 
and be so hungry when he was in reality such 
a rich little boy — a king in his way — with five 
big places of his own. 

As he was thinking these thoughts in the 
early morning he saw a gentleman coming 
towards him in a gig. The gentleman had 
red whiskers and a red face. He was a stout 
personage, and he was driving a chestnut 
cob with a firm hand. 


Sir Piers. 


361 

“ Please stop ! ” said Piers, running into the 
middle of the road and holding up his own 
thin hand to arrest attention. 

The child had suddenly made up his mind 
to ask the gentleman to help him. 

Now it so happened that this man, a certain 
Squire Furzby, had been reading the account 
of the magistrate’s inquiry into the strange 
case of Sir Richard Pelham. He had been 
reading it with great interest, for, of course, 
he knew the Pelhams of Pelham Towers well. 

“ Please stop ! ” called little Piers. 

The gentleman drew up his horse and said 
“ Hullo ! ” 

“ Is this Devonshire, please ? ” asked Piers. 

“ You ought to know that, my little man. 
You were born here, I make no doubt.'’ 

“ It is quite true, I was born in Devonshire,” 
replied Piers. “ But I have come from Corn- 
wall. I have walked a very long way.” 

“ What a queer little chap ! Can I do any- 
thing for you ? ” 

Piers gazed earnestly up at Squire Furzby. 

“ May I speak to you as one gentleman to 
another ? ” he asked. 

The Squire gazed hard at the battered and 
much dilapidated little apparition in the road. 

“As one gentleman to another? Yes, 
certainly,” he said. 

“ As I am in Devonshire, and as tickets cost 
a great deal,” continued Piers, “ I was going 


362 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

to ask if you would drive me to the nearest 
railway station, and if you would lend me my 
fare, third class. I’m seven years old, so I 
shall only want a half-ticket to a station called 
Haversham.” 

“ What an extraordinary boy ! What do 
you want to go to Haversham for ? Have you 
no money of your own ?” 

Piers held up his two empty hands. 

“I have a great deal of money,” he said. 
“ I am a very rich boy.” He paused. 

“ Well ? ” 

“ I can’t tell you any more ; but will you 
trust me with a third-class fare to Havers- 
ham ?” 

“ The nearest railway station is half a mile 
away, just behind those trees,” said Squire 
Furzby. 

“ Please will you take me there ? I will 
promise so faithfully to return the money if 
you’ll lend it to me ; on my honor, you know 
— and as you are a gentleman, and Fm another. 
Do you think you could trust me ? ” 

“Your ticket at half-price third-class costs 
one and elevenpence,” said the gentleman. 
“ I happen to know that line well.” 

“Would you lend it me ? It will be such 
an immense help.” 

“ If you confide in me.” 

“That’s just what I can’t do. I am an un- 
fortunate boy burdened with a secret. Will 


Sir Piers. 


363 

you trust me because you are a gentleman and 
because I am one ? ” 

“ Ton my word, you’re the queerest little 
chap I ever saw in my life. Can’t you tell me 
anything about yourself ?” 

“ My Christian name is Piers.” 

“ It’s an uncommon name.” 

“ It is, but not in our family. You shall 
have your money back to-morrow or the next 
day at farthest. One and elevenpence won’t 
break you, will it ? ” 

“No,” said the gentleman. “Jump up. 
Piers ; I’ll drive you to the station, anyhow.” 

The child obeyed, and a moment later was 
seated by the man’s side. The Squire whipped 
up his pony. 

“What do you want to do when you get to 
Haversham ? ” 

“ I want to go to Pelham Towers.” 

“ Pelham Towers ! Hullo ! They’re in great 
trouble over there, you know.” 

“ Are they ? I don’t know,” said little Piers. 
His face was white, he began to shiver. They 
reached the railway station. 

“ Will you trust me with the one and eleven- 
pence,” asked the child, “ because you’re a 
gentleman and I’m another ?” 

“ ’Pon my word, I begin to think you are a 
gentleman,” said the Squire. “ Here’s your 
money. Take three shillings, you had better 
— ^you’ll want something to eat on the way.” 


364 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

“ Thank you very much,” said Piers. He 
took off his ragged cap, made a graceful bow 
to the gentleman, and then bounded into the 
station. 

“ Queer little chap ! Wonder what it 
means ? ” said the Squire to himself. “ Looked 
like a gentleman although dressed as a beggar. 
I am not sorry I did it, no, I’m not sorry. Til 
never see that money again, of course, but all 
the same. I’m not sorry I did it.” 

Meanwhile little Piers, having taken his 
ticket, waited eagerly for the train. It came 
up in due course. He took his seat in an 
empty carriage and soon found himself in the 
old familiar landmarks. He felt quite happy 
now and his heart light. It was delightful to 
be so near home again. 

When the train drew up at Haversham he 
got out and walked steadily in the direction of 
Pelham Towers. On his way he passed a 
cottage where bread and milk were sold. He 
went in and proudly paid for his own break- 
fast. By and by he reached the avenue. He 
saw the lodge gates, but now as he saw them 
he began to tremble, for it suddenly occurred 
to him that after all his secret still belonged to 
Clara, and that he had faithfully promised her 
not to reveal it. 

“ I know that short cut just where the gap 
in the hedge is,” thought the child. “ I’ll 
not go round by the lodge, for some one 


Sir Piers. 365 

might see me. I’ll push my way through the 

gap.” 

He did so, and the next moment he was 
running down a side path which led straight 
to the chapel. The chapel door was open and 
Piers walked in. It was cold in the chapel, 
but he was hot with walking. He took off his 
cap, pushed back his curls, and seated himself 
in the family pew. He had often sat there 
with his mother, and he felt quite comfortable 
and soothed and happy. No one was likely to 
come to disturb him. He could think what 
his next step should be — how he could gratify 
his longing, his passionate longing to see his 
mother and Barbara, and the old place, and 
yet keep his secret. 

Presently he started up, raised his eyes, and 
confronted the white tablet which recounted 
his own early death. He read it eagerly. 

“ What does it mean ? ” he said to himself. 
“ Piers Pelham, aged seven, died. Died ! 
But I have not died. Piers Pelham ! There 
never was any other Piers Pelham, aged seven, 
but me, and that white stone looks new, and 
there’s a verse under it. I died last summer 
—last August. But I didn’t die. I’m here. 
What does it mean ? I don’t like it,” thought 
little Piers. 

He heard voices outside : he looked around 
him. He went down the aisle and entered 
the churchyard. There was a commotion in 


366 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

the churchyard. A couple of grave -looking 
professional men were standing together and 
talking in low tones. One or two other men, 
also complete strangers to Piers, stood by. 
Some masons were busy taking away the 
entrance stone to the old vault. 

Piers knew that vault. He had often glanced 
at it with silent dread when he passed on into 
the church with his mother. Sometimes when 
he had bad dreams he thought of his ances- 
tors lying in the vault, and he wondered what 
sort of a place there was inside. As he came 
now into the sunlight the entrance stone had 
just been moved away, and he caught a glimpse 
of the black interior. He did not like it — it 
made his heart beat painfully. No one was 
looking at him, however. There was painful 
work on hand, and the attention of all this 
queer company was attracted towards it. 

Piers moved softly aside in the direction of 
the old yew tree. He did not want any of 
these strangers to notice him. 

At the other side of the yew tree stood Gaffer 
Crayshaw. Gaffer Crayshaw knew he ought 
not to be there. If he were discovered he 
would be ordered to go quickly about his busi- 
. ness, but he trusted no one would see him. 
With his old body pressed against the yew 
tree, he was peering out through the branches, 
his eyes fixed upon the scene which was 
taking place around the vault. He did not 


Sir Piers. 367 

notice Piers, but Piers recognized him at a 
glance. 

Old Crayshaw,” thought the child. “ He 
used to give me barley sugar. He’ll tell me 
what it all means." 

The little fellow stepped cautiously around, 
making no noise as he did so. He stood 
at last just behind Gaffer. Presently Piers’s 
small hand was laid on the old man’s arm. 

“ What are they doing over there ?’’ asked 
the child. “ What are they doing in the vault i 
Are they burying anybody ? " 

“ ’Tain’t that. Hush ! Don’t speak ! " said 
the old man. He half glanced round and saw 
a little figure in the ordinary blouse of a village 
boy standing beside him. 

“ Get away, you little beggar,’’ he continued. 
“ Get out of this. Hush ! Get you gone.’’ 

“But what are they doing?’’ pleaded 
Piers. His voice became a little more shrill. 

In despair Crayshaw thought it best to an- 
swer him. 

“ They ain’t a-burying nobody, but they’re 
a-taking somebody out of his coffin . Y es, there 
they come and the coffin with them. That’s 
the coffin that holds little Sir Piers Pelham— 
bless him ! Poor little chap ! They’re taking 
it out, and they’re going to open it.’’ 

“ But I’m not there!’’ cried Piers. 

His voice rang out very high and clear. It 
startled old Crayshaw, who turned round and 


368 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

looked at him for the first time attentively. 
The old man's face turned white, he clapped 
his two hands to his ears, uttered a loud and 
terrified shriek, and fled from the spot as if he 
were pursued by a thousand demons. 

Piers did not take any notice of him. One 
of the doctors who was bending over the coffin 
glanced up with an annoyed expression of face. 

“ Go away, little boy," he said ; and then he 
gave directions to one of the men beside him. 
The man stepped forward. 

“ But Fm not going away ! " said little Piers. 
“This is my own churchyard and my own 
chapel. What are you doing here ? You are 
to go away— Fm not going." 

The man was about to reply angrily, and to 
push the little intruder from the scene, when 
suddenly there was a fresh commotion. Some 
steps were heard approaching — eager steps, 
the steps of women. Piers burst from the re- 
straining hand of the man. He had the boy in 
his grip, but the child wriggled away as if he 
were a little eel. 

“ Barbara ! " cried Piers. “Barbara !” He 
rushed down the path. A lady with starry 
brown eyes was coming up, a lady with a 
white face, and a world of indescribable sorrow 
in her eyes. She was accompanied by some 
one else, but at her Piers had no time to 
glance. He flung his arms round Barbara’s 
neck. 


Sir Piers. 


369 

“What does it mean ?” he cried. “What 
does it mean ? Here I am. Pm back again. 
I’m alive and well. What does it mean, dear, 
darling, darling Barbara ?” 

“ Is it a dream ? ” cried Barbara. “ Are you 
a spirit or in the flesh ? Oh, Piers, speak, for 
heaven’s sake ! Oh, my heart will break ! ” 

“ But I am as alive as possible,” said Piers 
in a tone of astonishment. “ I never was dead 
at all. What can it mean ? I, dead and in 
my coffin ! And they have stuck my name on 
a tablet in the church. What can it mean ? I 
didn’t die aged seven. I’m alive. Feel me. 
Isn’t my arm strong ? Aren’t my cheeks rosy ? 
It was grannie did all that. I love grannie 
and I love Clara, but I can’t, no, I can’t keep 
my secret any longer,Clara. There you are, 
nurse, I see you. Oh, Barbara, kiss me. Bar- 
bara, take me back to mother. Where’s 
Dick ? Oh, Barbara, Barbara ! ” 

Barbara Pelham was too brave a girl to faint 
even in the presence of such an emergency. 
It is true that she grasped hold of Clara Tar- 
bot, and looked with terrified eyes from Clara 
to the boy. 

“ He is here— God bless him !— and alive,” 
cried Clara. “ I will tell you all. I came 
down for the purpose. I have a terrible con- 
fession to make.” But the words had scarcely 
passed her lips before her composure gave 
way, her strength, already strained to the ut- 
"24 


370 On the Brink of a Chasm. 

most, vanished, and the unhappy woman sank 
in a fit of unconsciousness on the ground. 

All further explanations can be quickly made. 
Clara recovered in time to make full confes- 
sion. This she did in the presence of the doc- 
tors and the police constables, who took down 
her depositions word for word as they fell 
from her dying lips.- She was taken to the 
house and tenderly nursed, and no word of re- 
proach was uttered to her, for those who bent 
over her felt that, bad as she was, she had been 
instrumental in saving the life of the boy. 

As to Piers himself, he and Barbara went 
up to town that afternoon. Barbara took the 
boy straight home to his mother, and then 
went to acquaint the magistrates with the 
strange turn affairs had taken. She held Clara’s 
deposition in her hand. So Dick was liber- 
ated and the celebrated trial came to nothing, 
and little Piers is still the reigning baronet of 
the house of Pelham — a gracious and kindly 
lad, who will grow up into a good and brave 
man. He has repaid Squire Furzby, who is 
one of his stanchest friends, and is never 
tired of telling of the dull winter’s morning 
when, having given, as he considered, three 
shillings to a beggar, he had in reality saved 
a great family from the extreme of tragedy. 

Dick Pelham has, after all, to work for his 
own living, but is none the less happy on that 


Sir Piers. 


371 


account, and Barbara has gladly resigned the 
title which, as she confessed afterwards, gave 
her move pain than pleasure. 

Grannie Ives has a house on the estate and 
spends every Sunday with Mrs. Posset. Be- 
tween them they do their best to spoil Piers, 
but they do not succeed. A warrant is out 
for the arrest of Luke Tarbot, and the police 
are still busy searching for him. 


THE END. 








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yoan, the Curate 


By FLORENCE fVARDEN 

joS pages^ size 7^ cloth, g stampings, $1,00 


The time of the story is 1748, its scene being along the seacoast of Sussex, England. 
The doings here of the “ free traders,” as they called themselves, or smugglers, as the 
government named them, had become so audacious that a revenue cutter with a smart 
young lieutenant in command, and a brigade of cavalry, were sent down to work together 
against the offenders. Everybody in the village seems engaged in evading the revenue 
laws, and the events are very exciting. Joan is the parson's daughter, and so capable and 
useful in the parish that she is called ** the curate.” She and the smart young lieutenant 
are the characters in a romance . — Book Notes^ May, 1899. 

The author of the once immensely popular “ House on the Marsh ’’.turns in her new 
story to the Sussex coast as it was in the middle of the last century. The time and the 
place will at once suggest smugglers to the observant reader, and, in truth, these gentry 
play an important part in the tale . — 'The Mail and Exfressy April ii, 1899. 

Miss Florence Warden in “Joan, the Curate” (F. M. Buckles & Co.) tells an or- 
thodox tale of smugglers in the last century with plenty of exciting adventures and no de- 
viations from the accepted traditions of a familiar pattern in fiction. 


— N. Y, Sun^ May 6, 1899. 


“Joan, the Curate” (Joan, a creamy-skinned, blackeyed maiden, gets her surname on 
account of the part she plays in helping her father. Parson Langley, with his duties), is a 
village tale of the smuggling days on the wild marsh coast of Kent and the equally lonely 
cliffs of Sussex. The village is a hot-bed of these daring “ free-traders,” even the parson 
and his daughter arc secretly in sympathy with them, and young Lieutenant Tregenna, 
who is in command of the revenue cutter sent to overawe the natives, has anything but a 
comfortable task to perform. His difficulties only increase when he falls in love with Joan 
and discovers her leanings towards the illegalities of the village, and when, at the same 
time, the audacious leader of the smugglers, Ann Price, who carries on her trade disguised 
as a man, falls in love with him herself, the complications are almost bewildering. The 
story moves through countless adventures, sanguinary fights, and lovers’ quarrels to the 
conventionally happy ending and the partisil return of the fishermen to honest ways. 


—Book Newf, May, 1899. 


At all booksellers or imll be sent„ 
postpaid, upon receipt of price by 


F, M. BUCKLES COMPANY 

p-77 East i 6 th Street, New York 



The Real Lady Hilda 

By B. M. CROKER 

266 pages f sizes ^ yyh -^ 5 , cloih^ 3 stampings y $1,00 


“The Real Lady Hilda,” by B. M. Croker, is a very pleasing novel, de- 
pending for its interest not upon sensational incident, but upon a clever portrayal of 
disagreeable traits of character in high society. The story is told by a young lady 
who finds herself with her stepmother in obscure lodgings in an obscure country 
town. The head of the family had been physician to a Rajah in India, had lived 
in princely style and had entertained in princely fashion. He had died and left to 
his widow and child nothing but a small pension, and they soon found themselves 
in straightened circumstances. Besides the character drawing, the entertaining 
feature of the story lies in the shabby treatment which the two impecunious 
women receive from the people whom they have so royally entertained in India, 
and the inability of the widow, with her Indian experience, to understand it. 
Entertaining, too, is the fawning toadyism of the middle-class women, who disdain- 
fully tip their noses and wag their tongues when they find that the poor women are 
neglected by the great lady in the neighborhood. 

— The Booksellery Ne’wsdealer and Stationery June l, 1899. 

Mrs. Croker belongs to the group of English country life novelists. She is 
not one of its chief members, but she succeeds often in being amusing in a quiet, 
simple way. Her gentlefolk lack the stamp of caste, but the plots in which they 
are placed are generally rather ingenious. Of course, in a field so assiduously 
worked, one cannot look for originality. The present book is just what the author 
modestly calls it — a “sketch,” with the usual poor girl of good femily and the 
equally familiar happy ending . — Mail and Expressy May i, 1899. 


At all booksellers or will be sent, 
postpaidy upon receipt of price by 

F. M. BUCKLES COMP ANT 

f-zi East i6tk Street, New York 


The Good Mrs, Hypocrite 


By “RITA" 

284 pages, size xg, cloth, 3 stampings, $1.00 

Good Mrs. Hypocrite.” A study in self-righteousness, is a most enjoyable 
novel by “Rita.” It has little of plot, and less of adventure, but is the study of 
a single character and a narration of her career. But she is sufficiently unique to 
absorb the attention, and her purely domestic experiences are quite amusing. She 
is the youngest daughter of a Scotch family, angular as to form and sour as to fea- 
ture. She had an aggressive manner, was selfish, and from girlhood set herself 
against all tenderness of sentiment. Losing her parents, she tried her hand as a 
governess, went to her brother in Australia, returned to England and joined a sister- 
hood in strange garb, and her quarrelsome disposition and her habit of quoting 
scripture to set herself right made her presence everywhere objectionable. For this 
old maid was very religious and strict as to all outward forms. Finally she went to 
live with an invalid brother. She discharged the servant, chiefly because she was 
plump and fair of feature, and she replaced her with a maid as angular as herself, 
straight from Edinbro*. The maid was also religious and quoted scripture, and the 
fun of the story lies in the manner in which the woman who had had her way so 
long was beaten by her own weapons. 

— Bookseller, Ne’wsdealer and Stationer, June 15, 1899, 

The Scotch character is held up in this story at its worst. All its harshness, 
love of money, unconscious hypocrisy, which believes in lip-service while serving 
but its own self, are concentrated in the figure of the old spinster who takes charge 
of her invalid brother’s household. She finds a match, however, in the Scotch 
servant she hires, hard like herself, but with the undemonstrative kindness that 
seems to be a virtue of the race. The book lacks the charm that lies at the root 
of the popularity of the books of the “ Kailyard ” school. In its disagreeable 
way, however, it is consistent, though the melodramatic climax is not the ending 
one has a right to expect . — The Mail and Express, June 21, 1899. 


At all booksellers or will be sent, 
postpaid, upon receipt of price by 

F. M. BUCKLES & COMP ANT 

g-zi East i6th Street, New York 


Captain yackman 


By JF. CLARK RUSSELL 

24.0 pages ^ size 7 ^ cloth ^ 3 stampings ^ $1,00 


Clark Russell in “ Captain Jackman ” has told a good story of the strange conduct of 
a ship’s master, who starts out with a fake robbery by which he realizes ;^i5oo. The ac- 
count of his peculiar courtship and the still more peculiar acceptance of his offer by the 
daughter of a retired naval commander is scarcely credible, but it is readable and the tragic 
end is not improbable. It is a mere short story, expanded by large type into a volume. 

— San Francisco Chronicle^ July 9, 1899. 

** Captain Jackman ; or, A Tale of Two Tunnels,” is a story by W. Clark Russell, 
not so elaborate in plot as some of his stories, or so full of life on the sea, but some of the 
characters are sailors, and its incidents are of the ocean, if not on it. Its hero is dismissed 
from the command of a ship by her owners, because of his loss of the proceeds of a voyage, 
which they evidently think he had appropriated to himself. The heroine discovers him in 
and rescues him from a deserted smuggler’s cave, where he had by some mischance im- 
prisoned himself. He handsome, she romantic as well, they fall in love with each other. 
Her father, a retired commander of the Royal navy, storms and swears to no purpose, for 
she elopes with the handsome captain, who starts on an expedition to^capture a Portuguese 
ship laden with gold — a mad scheme, conceived as it appears by a madman, which ac- 
counts for his curious and unconventional ways, 

— Bookseller^ Newsdealer and Stationer^ July, IJ, 1899. 

It is readable, interesting, and admirable in its technical skill. Mr. Russell, without 
apparent effort, creates an atmosphere of realism. His personages arc often drawn with a 
few indicative strokes, but this can never be said of his central figures. In the present little 
story the fascinating personality of Captain Jackman stands our very clearly. He is a cur- 
ious study, and the abnormal state of his mind is made to come slowly into the recogni- 
tion of the reader just as it docs into that of old Commander Conway, R. N. This is really 
a masterly bit of story-craft, for it is to this that the maintenance of the interest of the 
story is due. The reader does not realize at first that he is following the fortunes of a mad- 
man, but regards Jackman as a brilliant adventurer. The denouement is excellently brought 
about, although it gives the tale its sketchy character.— hT, T, Times^ July l, 1S99. 


At all booksellers or will be sent, 
postpaid, upon receipt of price by 


F. M. BUCKLES & COMP ANT 

p-ii East i6th Street, New York 


A Rogue^ 5 Conscience 


By DAVID CHRISI'IE MURRAT 

jii pages, size jYz x cloth, j stampings, $i.oo 


It is rather unusual to find a detective story written from the criminal’s 
point of view, and truth to tell, in this “ Rogue’s Conscience,” by David 
Christie Murray, we find [our smypathies and anxieties strongly following 
the hunted ones. Mr. James Mortimer and Mr. Alexander Ross were such 
entertaining sinners, and their disguises were so marvellous, and their 
escapes so hair-breath, that we follow the comedy of their fortunes with un- 
failing cheerfulness. When the scene shifts from city risks to the broad field 
of mining camp speculations, we see the beginning of the end, for here the 
“rogue’s conscience” commenced to work, and a double reformation ends the 
book in a blaze of glory. The story has just enough seriousness to give it 
balance but by no means enough to destroy the pleasantly light and entertain- 
ing quality of the book . — Literary fVorld, August 5, 1899. 


David Christie Murray has written an amusing tale of two unworthies in 
“A Rogue’s Conscience.’*^ “ If you want to enlighten a rogue’s conscience, 
serve him as he served other people — rob him,” observes the “hero,” who 
has acquired the “ sixth sense of honesty.” How he arrived at this sage con- 
clusion, and how he put the principle into effect, all tend toward the live 
human interest of a story which shows no sign of lagging from beginning to 
end. The tale is not free from tragedy, but even the sombre parts are handled 
easily and lightly, as though the author believed them necessary, but yet felt 
freer in the atmosphere of almost light-hearted roguery which pervades most 
of the volume. The book is capital reading for a summer afternoon, and 
action lurks on every page. — American, August 31, 1899. 


Two rogues, who figure in the novel as James Mortimer and Alexander 
Ross, in alliance with a third scamp, forged an issue of the Bank of England. 
The nameless third paid the penalty of his crime, but Mortimer and Ross, 
through the clever scheming of Mortimer, escaped to British Columbia after 
having added to their ill-gotten gains. Mortimer, apparently the most un- 
scrupulous, makes the singular atonement which transforms him into a hero. 

— Publisher^ IVeekly, July az, 1899. 


jit all booksellers or will be sent, 
postpaid, upon receipt of price by 

F. M. BUCKLES & COM PA NT 

g~ii East i6th Street, New York 


A Mali s Undoing 


By Mrs. H. LOVETT CAMERON 

333 7 >^ ^Sy 3 stampings, $i,00 


A retired English officer, returned to his widowed mother’s quiet home in 
the country, finds his undoing in idleness, which leads him into a flirtation 
with a girl socially and intellectually his inferior, but who is clever enough to 
force marriage upon him. Then complications thicken, as the man discovers 
the full meaning of his fatal mistake. 

— T’ie Mail and Express.^ August lo, 1889. 

“A Man’s Undoing” is an exceptionally good novel by Mrs. H. Lovett 
Cameron, It is not written to tickle the palate of the sated reader who is 
looking only for new sensations, nor is it intended to amuse for a short hour. 
It preaches no new doctrine ; it presents no novelties of character or incident. 
Its theme is as old as humanity — the burden of story and song through all the 
ages. But Mrs. Cameron shows that it has lost none of its interest, that its 
phases may be presented in new aspects, that the conventionalities of modern 
civilization have not made it less a force in the affairs of men, nor obliterated 
any of its eternal truths. Its influence over the lives of men and women var- 
ies in extent and results, as the men and women vary in character, subject 
always to variations of condition and environment; therefore it always pre- 
sents new studies. All the world loves a lover, and no one knows better than 
Mrs. Cameron how to make a lover most interesting. Especially skillful is 
she in her delineations of women who love. She paints other women also to 
fill out her pictures — the narrow-minded old maids and the gossipy matrons, 
and none of her women are repellingly bad — but her women who love have all 
the nobility and strength of womanhood. As she deals with noble character, 
so she deals with the serious affairs of life, of strong emotions, of heart his- 
tories, with all their heroism and pathos, *‘A Man’s Undoing ” is admirably 
constructed. Its lessons will not be lost upon the thoughtful, and it will be 
read with eager interest by all classes of novel readers. 

— Bookseller.^ New sdealer and Stationery August 1 5, 1899. 

This is a good strong story ; told with dramatic emphasis. It is not 
heavy; plenty light enough for summer reading; but the author, Mrs. H. 
Lovett Cameron, writes with the skill of a trained novelist, as, indeed, she is. 
How the man came to be undone, as the result of a one-week flirtation — that 
is for the readers to find out. The lover of a good story will not lay down the 
book until the last page is turned. The volume appears in a cloth cover of 
brown, black, red and green. The type is clear and good sized; the paper 
good, and the pages number 3J3 . — Americany August 24, 1899. 


all booksellers or will be senty 
postpaid, upon receipt of price by 

F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 

g-il East i6th Street, New York 

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